Secondary.

This is just a short poem about the women who strive for a love that just may not be relevant. Being Secondary is NEVER an option.

Reckless Still.

How dare he believe

in a world full of deceit-

that I would ever be complacent with being secondary.

I wait for a call; a text even, but he stalls

and I start to develop a thirst.

but i know in my heart, he's a man who may lack

the ability to put me first.

So does this make me tolerant of being half loved?

Am I still a woman? Will I ever smarten up?

Can he imagine a future with his match?

Or will he keep me in his pocket, keeping me bounded like his cash stack.

There has to be more, I've invested too much in this now!

I'm lost and confused- I just have to be found, saved even...

He deserves this love just as much as I.

Right?

Does he deserve the sound of my voice when HE decides to call?

Or my clothes scattered amongst his hardwood floor?

A title is what I want, something to do is what I've become.

He's soon to feel my thoughts because i'm definitely second to none.

How can a woman ask for something that may not really be there?

I talk of him while second guessing if i'm even a thought during his day...

This isn't what I signed up for.

Secondary just isn't me.

-RecklessStill.2011