Smudge

Why do I feel like I belong in places I know I’m not supposed to?
In the cracks, in the rawness of reality, I sit in peace.
Such an odd disturbance I am.
It’s only among the odd, among the shadow I feel at ease to just be me.
I was not made for fancy things.
I belong in the dirt and the blood.
I’m no royal beast.
The finer things are wasted on me.
I just want to be left alone.
To not pretend
to not fit in
but to succeed in the mess I am.