Quietly watching, seeing your every move, feeling every word, hanging it on a memory peg, taking in all that’s around, the ridiculous and the profound. I’m there, right by you, but you don’t register me, why should you, as you can’t see. I move away to the other side, where I feel comfortable and safe, where I can watch you from a distance, like a starving waif.
I wait for you to notice me, for your mind to turn on me, waiting for the ball in my face or the stupid comment you must make, for all you mates’ sake. I have been watching you, I see you every day and admire all the things you do, I wish I was that way.
Everyone laughs and likes what you say; you always seem good at everything and get your own way. You have the best of everything; you seem to not try too hard, all your mates think you are a bit of a card. When I’m not watching you, I’m thinking of the way you are without an emotional scar, I work so hard, I tire of the day, all the time I know being like you there is no way. I can try to be like you but friends push me away, and take the rise out of everything I say. I work so hard to be the best but don’t come close to you or all the rest. I’m tired of trying to be you, I’m running out of zest just trying to do my best.
So, I sit and watch you in everything you do, hoping that one day I might find the secret from you, there must be something I’m doing wrong, something I should know, but no one seems to tell me they just come and go. So, when you see me watching you, remember, it’s your grace; the way you carry yourself; the fast running pace; that is what I’m interested in, that’s why I dare show my face. For just one day of being you I wish I could have a taste.
©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017
Rhythm of the Ink 