It is a difficult thing; realizing
That I most likely will never be Prince Charming.
It seems that the fates have plans yet for me?
As I sit a half century in never promised
Not once picked even by mistake?
Define the act of being lonely
That is my every day state for months
And those turned into years.
All pointing at one thought, covered by denile
No body wants me.
Feel the weight of it.
An heart beat, a breath
Sick in the pit if your chest
Conscious mind reeling
As honesty and ego try to work out terms.
As much as it hurts it disappoints
Myself, my fantasy life tv had promised
There will be none of in fact.
Problems if ever rarely iron themselves out
The world doesn't owe or give one fuck about you
Pretty girls are cruel unless they need to be
Things aren't as they seem
Ownership defines all outside appraisal
Intelligent, funny, gentle, alluring, kind, nurturing, supportive, honest, hold hands with impossible
Yet still, they want every quality, but give nothing in return can walk a ay at any moment
And you have your own past as proof
Alone you came out into
Now is just the waiting
until alone that end comes
You sit and try to wrap your head around it
You are alone. Not sought after. Not wanted
Ok. Now what to do with THAT?