Sick of being second.
Second place,
Second rate,
Second pick.
Sick.
Loving those who love me not,
and locking all the hurt away.
Surviving for another day,
in hopes I'll fill this empty spot.
And yet I'll go on loving still,
for I am but a hopeless fool,
who's sick of being second.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem