Popularity Blues Poem by Fane Oat

I tried so hard, to be my best,
To be popular like all the rest.
They stampeded through the halls, like wild Mustangs,
I wanted so much, to be part of their gang.
I was trying to impress her, with what I said,
Those big, fancy words that you have read.

Everything I eat and everything I wear,
They simply do not give a care.
So as I sit, at my old table,
A girl walks up and tells me a fable.
Of a boy who once, tried like me,
To be ‘cool’ and ‘popular’ as you can see.

It didn’t work out and he was a dork,
But later he knew, that popularity is bleak.
He learned that jobs will come whether or not your were voted Home-Coming King.
And families will care, even if you couldn’t sing.
They care for the heart, all that you did.
Not that you were the hottest Quarterback as a kid.