The Fringe Dweller

You know this type:
The girl who won’t raise her hand
to answer a question in class,
even though she knows the answer
Hands down.

The awkward kid
who can’t throw,
can’t catch a pass,
and gets picked last
No matter what team.

The girl seated at the kitchen table
for dinner,
who silently talks to God,
While everyone else is talking to each other.

The teen who will play that piano or guitar
for hours,
but will stop and walk away
When someone else notices.

You think she’s shy.
You think she doesn’t believe in herself.
If she would just….

I am the Fringe Dweller.
I am not afraid to dip my toes
Into the waters, mudholes,
And swamps of Life!

It’s just that I invariably fall in
Head first.

And after nearly drowning
in the middle of the lake,
or gasping for air
as I climb out of the mudhole,
or pushing and cutting my way
Out of the swampland,

I want nothing more
Than to tell the tales
of how I got over the water;
how I knocked the mud off me;
how I wrestled that alligator
in the swamp,

As I sit on the porch,
in my rocking chair,
Laughing in the face
of Life and Death.


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