Give it up.
My self-deprecation leads me to be a lowly side piece.  
Never a center stage girl, instead a wing, hiding, waiting for someone to say something.
The broccoli next to a flank steak.
Blinking into the bright lights wondering when it’ll be my time.
Haven’t found the one to say ‘I wanna stay’
Karma? Or is it something else?
I’m the old toy they ditch for something better,
Never the one they tell the world ‘I’ve met her’
I can see the future and it’s
New men every week until
They find someone less bitter