poems

Poem #8

I watch everyone leap gracefully and fall

I can't dance, shouldn't be here at all

They're airborne, gentle, elegant does

While my own legs are my own foes

I see the runners, sleek and strong

Their hearts beat their own proud song.

In English I flourish with pride,

But I shrivel as soon as the new student walks inside

They've won so many awards,

Won so much certificates they seem bored.

In math I try my very best,

In theory I'm good, but I'm not good on my test,

I cry in my science class,

'Cause all the boys have too much sass

They whine and taunt

They cheer and flaunt

All the things they do better than me,

How I know I can't do that, how I'll never get past 93(%),

And my piano skills aren't even useful,

My flute's been dented, and I return it, rueful,

I try and try and try again,

But until then, I'm just that one friend.

Always close to their goal,

But never past the very end.

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Ever had that sudden urge to create depressing stuff