Untitled Poetry---or a vent.

I'm trying my best. So why is my best, also my worst?

Because as the days pass, and the breaths come faster, I notice I'm alone in this world.

I am no one's first choice, not even their second or third, but their last.

I am here when they are bored.

So await for a text from them I shall, and if it never comes, then perhaps I'm just not worth it.

I stand here. Waiting. I'd sit, but all the spots are taken up. I'm sore now. My knees tremble.

I am weak. I cannot withstand waiting this long.

But honestly? I can't blame you for not texting me yet, and making me wait so long.

But as I stand here, I have noticed something worse.

I was so caught up in my head that I didn't even notice that you never once asked for my number.

So how could I get a text from someone who doesn't even have me in their contacts?

The world is dark, with a light spot for me, but only I see the light above.

The light highlights me, but not for others' views.

The light is to make of a fool from me.

To show myself how I stand out so terribly.

How I stand there, as if I'm waiting for someone---something?---to come comfort me.