It seems as though you do
all you can for those
that you care about.
And it seems as though
it means nothing to them.
As though the sacrifices and effort
you put in for them
are all taken for granted.
But you accept it, no?
You accept it as your lot in life.
Strangely, you are actually
quite content with the role you play.
The dependable one, the one that
people turn to when they need help.
The one that will always
be there to provide advice.
To keep them company.
You keep all the secrets.
You try your best to never tell lies.
But you are, for better or worse, a bus stop.
Nobody hangs around for a long time.
They only look for you when they need you.
When they need a bus so to speak.
When there is no one else to give them a ride,
or no taxis to call upon.
Do you complain?
No, of course you don't.
Because nobody would come
to you at all if you did.
You accept that you are a wallflower.
Interestingly, you seem resigned to it.
Almost revel in it.
But then you think,
what if I wasn't around anymore?
Would anyone notice?
Would anyone care?
And the realisation hits you.
It doesn't matter.
YOU, don't matter.
Bus stops are a dime a dozen.
And you realise that's what you are.
Expendable. Replaceable.
Disposable cameras.
Tissues. Newspapers. You.
They all have something in common.
Once used up, they get thrown away.
So what do you do about it?
You try to be more than just a bus stop.
You try to be a tangible human being.
You have your own mind, heart, soul.
And you try to show it to the world,
as if to say, this is who I am.
But no one's listening.
No one cares.
No one cares about you.
But you care so much, for so many.
Would they not spare
just a drop of concern for you?
Just a little spittance
of interest to at least give you
the illusion that there is
an actual friendship to be maintained?
Some semblance of hope?
And you wonder to yourself,
how did I get here?
How did I reach this point in life,
to be nothing more than
a doormat that's taken out
when needed and then put away
when all is said and done?
And you try and try and try.
And ultimately realise
that it is a futile effort.
Nothing is going to change.
People will move on with their lives.
You will flit in and out,
whenever needed or otherwise.
And in the end, you accept it.
You smile and talk as though it's alright.
You revert to what you always were.
The advice dispenser.
The shoulder to cry on.
The dependable secret keeper.
The one who gets asked out
when everyone else is busy.
And then you stay at home
on those nights when nobody needs you,
no one looks for you,
and your company is not required.
Do you complain, cry, scream,
show your frustration?
Of course you don't.
You're nice, remember?
And nice guys,
always finish last.