Poetic Excuses

Runt

She is accepted into her own group,
Where she is the Runt.

The oddest one,
The most different.

They see colors,
She sees darkness.

They don't do the things she does,
They sound against them.

She's the youngest,
And the weakest.

She always feels needy and unloved,
But she knows she is.

Her pain isn't as strong as theirs,
Yet her years pour out more often.

She shows her pain,
Easily revealing weakness.

She's the Omega,
The last to be chosen for anything.

She's told they don't care and only want to use her,
But she doesn't believe it.

Should she?

She's the Runt,
The Omega.

Part of her says she should be an Alpha and lead,
She doesn't know if her Pack will accept what she feels is meant for her.

So there she sits,
An Omega of the Pack.

Lowest ranking,
Least cared for.

She started as the Runt and was told her strength would get her farther,
They were wrong.

From a Runt,
She sits as an Omega.

It seems she ignores the hateful comments,
But she cries when alone while they flow into her head again.

She's the Runt and the Omega,
She barely cares...