The Fringe (Breakfast at Graunback)

In a land where shadows flicker and fade,
Where strangers dance to tunes they’ve made,
I tread, a soul disfigured yet proud,
In a world where silence screams loud.

Pushed to the fringe, a ghost in their dreams,
I navigate life’s relentless streams,
Hearing whispers that I don't belong,
Yet moving forward, limping, but strong.

Their smiles are gentle, laced with a sigh,
A bittersweet courtesy that passes by,
While the shops close their doors and stare,
At a story that’s foreign, a burden to bear.

An irritant, a fleeting scar,
A reminder of worlds apart by far,
They see a discomforting sight,
A truth of life they’d rather slight.

But as I walk through city and street,
Through foreign paths beneath my feet,
I start to see the layers unfold,
In hearts wary, in faces grown old.

I bear the weight of their distant gaze,
Yet in their silence, I find a phase—
It's neither fault nor choice alone,
Just the clash of worlds neither has known.

I stay on the fringe, a stranger still,
Finding solace in strength of will,
Though I’m not wanted, my voice finds ground,
In echoes of a land where I’m unbound.