Tis Me Poem by Sukriti Prakash

Maybe I'm the problem;
Not them.
It's my fault I'm in this position,
Wasn't it my lack of disposition?
Should've remained mum;
Why speak where others are dumb?

No matter how much I try,
All my heart does is cry.
At the end, I ought to accept it with a smile so wry,
Or rather, should I die?
Maybe I'm the problem;
Not them.

They are the ones who have friends;
I'm merely a loner at the end. Is this really how my story ends?
Am I not the reason for my position?
Wasn't it my lack of disposition?
Because of which I'm always a third wheelie,
Never a part of our—my apologies—'their' selfie.

I wanted to make an indelible impression.
Look at me now; I'm going into depression.
To you this might be puerile;
Are all my efforts really futile?
I knew I should've remained mum;
Why speak where others are dumb?

Maybe I'm the problem.
Not them.
That's what I keep telling myself.
It's easier than admitting
I only wanted someone
To save me a place beside them.

'Tis me. I'm weird, somehow differently wired.
To thee, I can be a geek, or a freak.
But I solemnly say with a sigh - this is me.
If I change myself, I'd lose the only friend
I ever had—obviously, 'tis me!
What were ye expecting?

(To all those who may not have felt this,
Consider yourselves fortuitous never to have been dealt this.
To ye I bid farewell;
Ergo, unlike me, I pray ye are well.)