Why is the world never enough?
Why does it flounder, rather than sparkle,
Though the words are all there within
Why do they stumble as they jumble themselves,
falling out of sorts?
Why do they grasp at the vestiges of difference?
I'm tired of never being enough
Of being the periphery in someone else's plans
Of being the lover not the loved
Of being the one who holds the light rather than the one who follows it.
I can't admit it
But sometimes I think I can
Because for a few fleeting instances
Stepping off the platform
Getting off the sidewalk
Stepping out of those mile high heels
Maybe I can say it
Maybe I can feel forsaken,
Maybe I am forsaken
Maybe I am nothing more than a doubt
A vinyl on replay
A sound too different to be unique
A contradiction too normal to be remembered
And that is what it comes down to
Never being the one with the edge
The one with the bragging rights
The one with the big words
Just being me is painful
But only because there isn't much of me left.
