I will never be the one you choose first,

Just the comfort you run to when loving gets worse,

I know I should feel ‘lucky’ to even get a call,

But sometimes I wish I wasn’t there for you at all.

I’ve always hoped you’d care a little more,

But every time we talk, I feel I’m just your chore.

It’s in my dreams, to be the friend that you’d finally prefer,

Yet when you reference me, you treat me like an amateur.

I am expected to be joyous and always full of cheer,

While I’m pushed aside, wondering, “Why do I adhere?”

I hate that I remain when discard’s thrown in my face,

Or the guilt that I feel when I say, “I need space.”

I hate the plans I discard for you when I see you coming,

Or the feeling when I stand next to you, described as numbing.

It’s the way I’m expected to be alone and still rejoice,

But also, to be your friend when there’s no other choice.

It’s the way I must tread on glass, and watch if I’m too loud,

To feel myself alone, without friends in this crowd.

Which is stupid, because there’s friends who’d love to be with me,

But I feel the need to be alone in case you become free.

I realise now that I will always be left behind,

I wonder, “Am I just burden to your frame of mind?”

It’s why I questioned this poem, even though it’s true as gold,

Because you do treat me like this, but how dare I let truth be told.

You play with my emotions, watch them flicker with delight.

But deep down, I think you know, I just want to be in your line of sight.

I am the Plan B, yet I must act with civility,

I would’ve loved to have been there for you, if you could’ve found the availability.

You hurt me deeply, though that detail I feel I must hide,

Hide with a smile as I long to be chosen, waiting by your side,

With patience, I pray that you’ll someday see my worth,

I pray, that you’ll treat me like I belong on this earth.

But I know in truth, no matter what might happen or occur,

You’ll never pick me first.

But I’ll still wait here and endure.