Though I may not belong,
Or ever be worthy of any good fortune;

Though all I do be irrelevant,
And I lack real understanding;

Though I stand exposed to
Whatever destructive forces there be —

Still, I fear leaving incomplete
My alienated
Unworthy,
Inapplicable,
Foolish,
And flimsy ideas

More than anything

Maybe I misunderstand
The things I think I know;

Maybe it’s all foolishness,
And I have far to go,

Maybe there’s another life
Where wisdom is my store,

And maybe it’d be better
I don’t ponder anymore.

So though misunderstandings be
Both myriad and deep,

My ignorance could soon be bliss
If I could get
To sleep

What does it matter?
What does all this matter? —

You work, you strive, you love, you talk, you write –
For what? For who? Who’ll remember?
Who really cares?

You raise your kids with every ounce of energy you have,
They grow up and reject your values,
And you.

You enthusiasms fade into obscurity,
And your causes crumble to dust.

You wake in the empty night,
Feeling as though one foot
Is already in your forgotten grave.

When I say “you”, I mean “I” —

I am just another irrelevance:
A lump of ugly clay
In a world of beautiful imagery,
Already forgotten.

Soon to be no more

Than a name on a page

contaminated by my thoughts,
i never could deserve
what i’ve been given

if people knew the inmost me,
they’d see that with disease
my heart is riven

it doesnt matter what i do,
the depths to which
my desperate soul is driven —

all that i feel’s unworthiness:
for not improving more
the world
i live in

they talk
about the odd one,
with his funny clothes
and funny words

who no one
wants to sit with,
not the stoners, jocks,
or even nerds

a permanent
outsider,
clumsy, stupid,
and inept

the family he has
can’t shake
the company
not kept

and though the years
have come and gone,
he cannot keep
at bay

the fear of
not-belonging
as it dogs him

every

day