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[Poem] Second Rate

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It sure feels nice to be second rate.
Like you're not good enough but it's just too late.
You can cry all you want.
You can die all you want.
But you're always outclassed in this eternal debate.

"Is there something wrong with me?"
"Am I lacking appeal?"
Well, it's kinda hard to tell
When this pain feels so real.
What's the deal?

Why am I even trying?
Am I better off crying?
Talking to a wall where I get no where at all.
And I just fall.
It's all silence.
Why even try this?

Why do I get hurt by what I cannot feel?
What I cannot steal?
It's like I'm trapped in a cage.
Taunted, rubbing what I'm not in my face.
I wish I could erase.

Everything that I am not.
So, what I've got.
Looks a lot better than the rest of the lot.
But, my dreams are shot.
So, I'll just rot.

I wish I could forget.
Say, "Oh, yeah. That's great."
And my depression won't just elevate.
But, how could you relate?

It seems I'm always running
After what wasn't there.
So, go ahead and ignore me.
'Cause deep down I still care.

Edited by DemonicDax

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