Average One

A poem I wrote explaining how tired I am about always being the average one. The person that doesn't really excel at anything.

I'm always the average
the one with no special skills
trying to make my way
into a world
filled with people of mighty length
who excel at such things
with such easily a grace
never having to
push and shove their way through
not the way that I have to do
I wish I was stronger
that my mighty wall
which follows me wherever I might go
was made out of special steel
instead being made out of glass
and having these things hurt me so
I scream and shout
trying to break my way free
trying to show them all
that I'm not that average after all
but no matter how hard I try
I can't seem to fight this war
that is happing from the inside
I'm not good at writing,
or reading fast,
or even drawing
I close my eyes
and wish with all my might
that I'll wake up from this dream
but this is not so
for when I wake up
I'm exactly the same person
that I have started with
the average one
the sad little loser
who aren't good
at anything..

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed