Second Choice

I’m always the last one to stand, the second choice, even in a barren land.

Praying each day for someone to quench my thirst, for someone to put me first.

But time and time again, what I want won’t matter.

Even with my heart on a silver platter, I’m still cast aside and cruelly denied.

I never pass their tests, always end up as second best.

The love people feel for me is never pure, the response is always “I’m kinda unsure”

Am I a chipped cup personified?

With each star fallen from the sky, a new scar blushes on my skin, set ablaze by your well-intended grin. 

I feel like a glass bowl, less and less whole, but you remain tough while you tell me that I am 

not enough,

flawed and weak,

for your refined taste, just a bit too bleak.

However, every night will at some point turn to light.

So I urge myself to resist the appeal of flight, instead encouraging myself to fight.

After all, who can afford to take a risk, even find solace in it, if not a pile of debris? 

Don’t you dare to swallow your pride, you know that you are worth so much more than being left on the cold, hard floor.

Dear reader, please remember, no matter how torn, every day you could be reborn.

So go on, even if the pain takes hold, continue to roam, for a place you can call home.