Empty Thoughts Of Madness

Forever on the Outskirts

I believe that there are some people in life that are made to live on the borders of human existence, always looking in from the peripheries of a community which doesn't ever fully accept them as one of their own. We live our life like shadows, flitting through life like inconspicuous butterflies, never really settling down anywhere because nowhere really ever feels completely safe or secure, because people don't seem to warrant our company or enjoy our being around. The people that do accept us fully are few and far between and seem also tied to living hermit-ised, only occasionally allowing their face to be seen under the full spotlight of a beating sun or under the scrutinizing glare of human eyes, before they retreat back into the comforting abyss of living as undiscovered.

I've found myself for years trying to find a port amidst turbulent waters, never truly touching ground or leaping out into the sands of Time to dance upon it's shores. I've skipped from place to place, clinging onto debris and hoping that it loves me, when really all it has ever done is float away into the horizon with the next galloping wave, finding turbulence and gaining height. I've watched for years as those tidal waves knock me off course, rip my sanity to shreds and leave me not knowing who I am or my destination, or even why I even try to gain acceptance.

Regardless of always being on the outskirts and hitting every single wave that's coming from the inside, I've found myself a plastic bag- that although ripped a little around the corners from past circumstance and a little weather beaten- has become my sail guiding me towards the port of the eye of the storm of the world, where all there is, is peace and love and acceptance.