I forget what my face looks like
Because my face is always in the Facebooks,
Poking my head through other people's lives
Wishing I could be invited to.
I suffer from this curse
Of being picked last in everyone's mental gym class.
They normally pick the stronger ones,
the Foxier ones, the ones who wink at them
With quick glances across the gym.
We, my friends, are the easily forgotten ones.