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elizabeth Jul 2016
He can't hang out,
She doesn't have time.
"I'm really busy";
It's the same, old rhyme.

Excuses, rainchecks,
They all fall into a pile.
Plans that fall through;
It gets tiring after a while.

Constantly pushed to the side,
Never a priority or top-of-the-list.
Always just an after-thought.
You get the gist.

Sometimes it's hard,
Being "the dependable one";
"The one that's always there",
When everyone else is gone.

Don't you know that
I need someone, too?
Someone always there,
Through and through?

Someone to hold me
On my darkest days;
Someone to make me
Feel better in a manner of ways.

Sometimes it's lonely,
Being my own friend.
It fills me with sorrow,
Sorrow that will hurt 'til the end.
Being your own friend is lonely. And it hurts to never be a priority.
This is a more selfish poem, but if you feel this way, then you can't help but be a little selfish.

— The End —