You’re What They Make of You

A Poem

Photo by Lopez Robin on Unsplash

the ballad breaks,
and i’m sitting on my hands again,
wondering where the time went away
because i’m so sick of waiting on cues.

and every time i slipped and slithered,
every time i basked and triumphed,
was only to end up here on the ground,
at the mercy of a fate greater than myself.

and they don’t want me,
no one wants me,
no one ever saw fit to put me first,
till i cry in my open palms, unbended.

and i’m waiting on a call again,
another inconsequential call,
to determine my fate again —
again, again, again, again, again.

the truth is i always thought
my words would fly and take me away —
but that’s not the case at all, is it,
because i’m just another wandering star?

and i watch you from the glass
and wonder why you’re still out there,
taking cues and writing up pawns,
never understanding your worth at all.