A Flower sticks out

I’m a man who sits on the edge of everything
I fidget with the gadgets that came with my being
And I collect people’s dirt and turd in my pocket and I keep it
Then I pile them into one heap of god-awfulness and eye-brow raiser

So they shun me but mostly they are a lot meaner
In their meanness they’re painful, like the edge of a razor
But behind me a flower sticks out of the muck and soil
And they stand, mouth a-gaping at the fruit of my toil.