I wasn’t born to be the disguised name,
In your contact list, or the last call of the day
Your late night guilty pleasure, your “just a friend”,
Rubber heart for you to play

I wasn’t born to be your 15th February,
Blank eyes and snide smirks in reply to my fears about “our future”,
The supporting actress (what a pity!)
Rosy lies to keep me in an impuissant stupor

I wasn’t born to be the weeping mess, lying at your feet at 6 in the morning,
My own delusions begging for an explanation,
Scared silly of losing you, blind enough to unsee
That the storms of my pain never received any placation

In all gullible affirmation, I thought I was participating
In a contest, and you were the gold
A punch too many to the heart made me realize
Trophies aren’t black like your soul

One day, when your daughter will come crying home,
Because some boy broke her heart ; the pain in her voice
Will remind you of me, and you will finally see
I wasn’t born to be your “second choice”. 

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One thought on “Second Choice. 

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