A poem

Ever since I can remember,

I know I'm nothing but a pawn

in the game of life, without worth or hope.

I'm not the first choice of anyone,

nor the dream of a night, nor the comfort of a day.

I'm not the first person they think of

when they need someone, when they want to share something.

I'm only a second option,

a plan B, a resource, a distraction.

They only think of me when "that" person

fails them, ignores them, leaves them.

They only pay attention to me when they pity me,

when they see in me the reflection of their own misery.

They only look for me when they have no one else,

when they feel lonely, empty, miserable.

I'm not special, I'm not important,

not even for the person who says they love me.

I'm not their priority, their joy, their passion.

I'm not their love, their light, their reason.

I'm only a ghost, a shadow, a nothing.

I'm only an echo, a sigh, a tear.

I'm only a verse, a poem, a song.

I'm only a text, a text sad, without heart.