What Is

I used
To be someone special.
A golden child, 
A star with hopes pinned tight
To my quickly rising wings.
A prodigy, a poet,
A dreamer unmatched.
A maybe-lover in a sea of possibilities.
How hard the descent from such a height?
How much harder the bigger do fall.
Now
I am a nobody.
A few random scribbled lines,
Quickly erased,
The paper tossed carelessly away.
Over-the-shoulder girl.
As other lovers line up to fill
My shoes,
My side of the bed.
Quickly redundant in a realm of intellectuals.
Glancing over a parade of yesterday,
A once-was sea of tomorrows,
Overwhelmed by the desert of what is.


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