Barlot ...

Very Seldom Is It Just One

There are days I wish I were born without confidence
Hoping there will be nothing to lose
When it's blatantly rubbed in my chest
That I'm nothing more than second best...to the people I choose to admire.
As I sit around and aspire to be more and to have more
My dreams slip like dry rice in a metal colander-
Down the drain and into the abyss.
The understanding of me sealed in...this...this...
This facade put up by my dignity has been burned to the filter's end-
Exposing nothing more than the charred fingertips
That bend around my guitar as I play in a bar
For rooms paced with unfamiliar faces
Requesting the graces of those I know
But no one shows!
It's almost as depressing as dressing up with no where to go
And no one to see.
It's a reoccurring process-
It's an autobiography
Like the feeling in your stomach when you find your foes are right
Second best in the gene pool
Second best for life
Some days it makes me try harder to get the spotlight
But on days like today I want nothing more than someone to reach out and say it's okay.
Ah! time is fleeting-
As my youth
Now there's nothing left to do
But flood this lasting pain away
And achieve solitude.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Poem Edited: Saturday, December 18, 2010

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Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me



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