I walk where voices fade to a hush,
between the crowd, and I feel no rush.
Their laughter rings, a distant chime,
While I trace stories out of time.
I wear the wind like a second skin,
soft armor where the world won’t pin.
I speak in whispers, songs unsung,
a language for the ones unstrung.
Their circles tighten, neat and bold,
But I belong on cold edges.
Not broken—just a different hue,
a shadow with a gentler view.
There’s strength in standing on the rim,
In dancing, where the light is dim.
An outsider, yes—but not alone,
My heart has built a quiet throne.