Self Portrait on the Outside Looking In

How do you know if you're in
or out? I don't mean as in belly

button, nor as in exuviae of animals
who've clearly moved on after 

the moult, leaving the old skin
or carapace behind as if it were

so last season, wouldn't be caught
dead in it! I come across this passage 

in a magazine: you know you're an outsider 
when even supposedly on the inside, 

you don't feel like an insider. How true!
Is it merely because fashion's fickle

like that, or because people are [pick one: 
xenophobic, nationalistic, racist, sexist, 

ethnocentric, intolerant]? Perhaps if you 
really were inside you might be able to say 

the things you bottle up for fear of repercussion. 
Perhaps, if you really were inside, that promotion 

might have come ten years ago. They'd finally 
spell  your name right on every correspondence.

They wouldn't tap you on the shoulder to ask for
silverware. Are your credentials real, your words 

stolen? Do they still follow you around the store
just for ogling the ridiculously high-end merchandise?

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