I'm your plan B, second-rate girl,
when all else failed,
when all the others, for whatever reason,
no longer satisfied,
all efforts and attention turned towards my pursuit,
maybe because I was a challenge, a curiosity
and seemed a bit different, who knows, it's irrelevant.
I was handy and kind of cute and maybe you said to yourself
"Alright, I can work with that"
put on your game face and made me feel like I was the best one.
Who wouldn't melt under the subtle, slick well placed, well timed flattery?
Pat your back boy, it was a job well done, after about a month I was feeling it.
By then I didn't mind or I tried to disregard being tallied,
just another girl somewhere down the list of victories.
I spoke nonsense about emotions and caring and wanting to be a saint
and it all flew over your head or entered one ear as you played the
sympathetic, concerned listener.
I've proved myself to be quite sturdy and resilient,
I stood in shadows, held your hand as you boasted
and fluffed up your feathers and took cheap shots
at my expense. I knew my place.
I stood in shadows, held your hand as you flirted,
teased and joked with other girls right in front of me.
And you could do that
because I was steady, because I was certain and I lacked
the spark of something new and exhilarating
and because you knew I would still stand there and wait for you.
I've proved that I could take your indifference, your silence and moodiness,
I could trail somewhere behind even when suddenly
at the sight of someone new your eyes would light up and there would be laughter,
striking like spit and spite and a slap across my face
still I had to play it off like it was all natural, and I was simply glad that you were
once again smiling.
I'm your plan B girl. And I accepted my part because you convinced me
to love and then I thought that perhaps in this game sacrifice is necessary.
And that was alright with me.
I was willing to let you fool around because I thought that
my time would soon be up and I didn't want to interfere with budding relationships.
You were before me, a lot.
It's no big deal, you'd say, but in reality I cried a lot. Did that not mean something?
Sometimes I wished that you would just come to me, look at me,
confess and that would be that, done, the end, we're both free at last.
I knew, sure it would hurt, but at least everything would be straight and obvious,
I would learn to cope and wish you two nothing less but happiness. No lie.
But it dragged on and on and I was losing myself. Second-rate girl.
I stood in shadows, held your hand and wished and waited for you to finally break me