All I'll ever be... Poem, by GingaNinja, at My poetic side

I’m so tired of getting excited for something new, just for someone new to feel the opposite about me.

I’m just an object to fill a void.

All I’ll ever be to anyone is just a place setting, to use as they need. Then to be stored in a dark corner until I’m needed again.

Why do I always feel disappointed? Why is my excitement always met with lackluster? Will anyone ever be excited about me?

Or is being unhappy and monotone all I have to look forward to in life?

Is that where happiness lies? In the mundane? If so, I am not destined to be happy.

I feel too much.

I feel too big.

I am too much.

I am too big.

It’s all I’ll ever be…

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All I'll ever be...