When I look into her eyes, I see everything I have always wanted to be.
I see a girl who is admired and loved by all who happen to be in her presence.
She happens to be a girl who knows what she wants and gets what she pleases without having to ask.

How can I measure up to this girl when everything I am is plain and simple.
How can we be in the same room when her features shine a light on everything that I do not have.

I can not love myself when I have learned that I am worth nothing compared to her.
She knows that, and I do too.

They only call me pretty when I'm with her anyway, so what do I do when I'm alone?
Nothing but pray that I have the courage to change everything I am as time goes on.

i've picked apart myself
the pieces that make sense
looking through a rose-tinted lense
of being content

i'll walk behind them
my friends who dance
along the lines of more than friends
and i'll clap and smile

i'll keep tabs on them
their pinkies intertwined
awkward and flushed, i laugh at their faces
as i feel a pang in my chest

these glasses are broken
maybe, i ask myself
i don't need it, i say
but i know inside that
i will always wonder what it's like

i'm at the end of the bridge
steps slow and quiet
to not make a sound
i give them privacy
as they share a kiss
tender and discreet

discreetly, i sigh
i'm at the bridge's end and they've walked past me
but i lean against the railing and think
"when will i?"

envy overflows like a landslide corroding a road

I want to fade into the walls and hide, like memories or bad dreams or a fleeting look we think we spy among crowded eyes. A pipe dream, to live up to even memories of those who’s been before me, or even left the room before me, even while my heart still pumps that
cold,
black,
Fluid round my veins,
I’ll never be as good as them. Or funny. Or handsome.
The only impressive thing about my legacy is the pain it causes me. Irony.
I’ll never live up to their memory, my life almost ethereal, sounds and smells and sights flow through me, not too me.
Like I walking memory I wander through the streets I call my home, my mind, doomed to tread the prints of those greater, more refined, who’s time was spent with people who would look at them, not through them. Like I am a hazy window into the rest of the world.
Those who came before me, who’s thrones I travel by and through, their legacy, endless in its torment of my opaque existence, became my legacy, of laughter, at my expense, ridden for the brief high it gave.
All I leave this meagre and transparent world, is a shadowed memory, and words.

Little things could turn the world
like knowing your favorite coffee and on how I could easily notice you on the way you laugh.
I know how strawberry ice cream tastes different as it looks better on your lips.

One time, we went on a secret room, I would love to be with you in that place because you are the first one I took there. Inside, there's a lot of mirror reflecting each side of your delicate and beautiful skin.

As I watched you glimmer, you are so amazed of how much I keep that place just for you.

And little did I know that you are looking from afar though, I only fix my eyes on you.

And there's an another cup of strawberry ice cream, one spoon for two.

But not with me.