Why is he better?
Better than me?
What has he got?
That makes you happy?
I can’t understand
Is it his youth?
Am I just getting
Too old I’m the tooth
Am I just ugly
So unappealing and plain
Do my jokes
Drive you insane?
We smile so much
But we never touch
Him smiling at you
Just boils my blood
But you’re not mine
I keep telling myself
As I put myself
Back on the shelf
To gather more dust
Onlookers fade away
I’m less attractive now
Less fun to play
Who likes damaged books?
Hard to always repair
Much better a new one
Much less despair
.
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