I am never first choice.
No,
I am never picked out before anyone else,
Chosen or selected or thought of
From the beginning.

No,
I am a hope.
I am a guide for those
Who are not first choices either,
leading them like a lighthouse,
Guiding their ships to rest
in my bright harbor.

I am the first choice
Of the last choices,
Using my lantern of excitement and comfort,
Illuminating the faces of my friends
As my golden love falls over them.

It shines like real gold,
My love for my friends,
But more precious than a metal could ever be.
This kind of gold is warm gold,
Melted butter gold,
Falling into warm blankets gold.

This gold
It covers their faces like paint,
Shiny and always fresh
As I carelessly apply
new, thick coats of my love
With my favorite paintbrush.

I am here for you,
I say,
By being a last hope.
I hold my lantern of gold and love and light
Above my head,
A beacon to those lonely,
Fearful,
Or not first choice.

In my head,
I preach support and encouragement
To empty streets with white-out street lights,
Big circle spotlights
For me.

I talk about misfortune and luck,
And hope and trust and friendship.
I rant through my problems
And my selfishness,
To the looming street lights.

They listen.
These white-out street lights
Erase my negative words
Straight from the page of my mind,
Leaving black
In their place.

Quiet gold sleeps through my dreams
Like spilled milk,
Like it’s running down my street,
Like it’s dripping down my face.
My dreams wink with hints of this gold.
It’s there in the form of my nail polish,
Of a collar on my cat.

The gold intertwines with the black,
The black of the white-out streetlights,
And fills up my lantern.

I light my lantern,
And hold it up into the air,
And I call those who are not first choices,
Come here!

I am not a first choice,
But I have my lantern,
my white-out streetlights,
I have the gold in my dreams
And in my mind.

I light the lantern for me, too,
As the flame burns away
The empty black paper,
Gold smoke takes to the sky.