I’m average.
No, I’m not skinny.
No visible bones, no endless legs.
No, I’m not fat.
No wide waist, no soft, round face.
No, I’m not curvy.
No hourglass ticking time down slowly
as I walk in a perfect motion.
I’m average.
No, I’m not cold.
I don’t turn away with a blank stare,
don’t just nod through every word.
No, I’m not loud.
I don’t shout to fill the silence,
don’t laugh high-pitched to prove I’m alive.
No, I’m not stupid.
I don’t hide behind excuses
or stumble into every mistake.
No, I’m not perfect.
I don’t see myself above or below anyone.
I’m average.
I’m not worthless—no one is.
But I’m not useful, either.
I sit in the background of every scene—
needed, but never noticed.
I gave up trying long ago.
I don’t chase the spotlight anymore.
I’m average.
I don’t have a crowd of friends.
But I’m not alone.
I’m the quiet glue holding everything together.
If I’m not there—
no one is.
I’m just average.