I am the Invisible Other.
I live unnoticed, unheard,
marginally on peripheries.
I am different by color
or language or belief.
Regarded with condescending
contempt, or stinging
indifference, I am a transparent
person, a bad dream that fades in
the light of artificial reality.

Do you wonder at my anger?
Look!  See my face!
If I call your name, will you answer?
No.  I don't think so.
I know my place.
I've learned my role, and
I play it well.
I am the Insignificant Other.

I live in the patronizing shadow
of your self-interested arrogance.
It is a cold place, abandoned even
by inherent instincts to love or to care.
Deserted by decency, it is a place
where tears turn to dust and hope
dies young on the vine.
I am the Other.
I am here.