to them i am an option,
something that happens conveniently,
only when it feels right, when it fits,
falling into places like a turning Tetris block.
and how many things do you think about,
before you get to me? your family portrait,
hiding me, and their priorities like poison,
and to another i’m just a muse, sitting
top shelf liquor, glistening in the parlour,
a sweet banana whiskey stirring gently.
only for special occasions or birthdays,
life keeps turning without my help.
but somehow i don’t like centre stage either -
not the manic pixie dream girl, not
the girl next door - just, not quite necessary.
i want to be seen in a different light,
but i’m not in need of another casting call -
i could put on an amazing performance,
i could play all the roles, but in their life,
well, i’ve just settled for a footnote.