Saturday, 14 January 2012
11:45:09 PM (GMT)
Everyone says they're my friend.
They Sure act like friends.
They ask if I'm okay when I seem a little glum,
They tell me I'm beautiful and "what a whore I am" for being pretty,
They Text me every once or twice a week just because,
We laugh, we listen to music, yadda, yadda, yadda.
Then they make plans with a huge group of people and leave me out,
They post "best friends" pictures and tag everyone, except me,
They go to the skatepark telling everyone how Unattractive I am,
They all sit and laugh and enjoy each other's company while I'm 9 feet
Away, standing, lonely hoping they'd notice and say hello,
They take a million pictures together.
What am I, a mop?
No, mops clean messes and I feel like a huge mess right now.
I'm a fucking painting.
Just a painting.
I don't exist to them.
Yes, the world does not revolve around me, I know.
I'm better off alone.
If nobody recognizes my presence when in right in front of them,
Nobody will even waste a millisecond trying to remember my
First name and where they've seen me before.