On The Outskirts


She says she’s in love and I wonder what that must feel like.

To be loved by a man who isn’t trying to mold me into something I’ll never be.

I wonder just how wonderful your love is.

What’s it like to have somebody you admire actually like you back?

What’s it like to never feel second best?

“You’re not perfect, but you’ll do.”

Those words will haunt me for the rest of my life.

What’s it like to really be in love?

What’s it like to have his hand to hold?

I guess I’ll never know.


She says she’s beside herself with all the support pouring in.

Hands to hold, she never has to walk alone.

Making memories I’ll only witness out of a photograph.

A movie.

A storybook.

A daydream.

A friendship so secure, she’ll never have to question who cares.

A shoulder to cry on, an ear who understands; who listens.

They don’t leave her feeling alienated.

What’s it like to be understood?

To relate?

To not be judged?

Nights are lonely, days are worse,

and the weight gets hard to carry when the only hand you have is your own.


What’s it like to not be alone?

I guess I’ll never know.


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