All your friends have found love, their match, that someone, the one
Yet you remain ever hopeful, “ Your chapter has just not yet begun.”
It’s your turn next; you’ve done your time, punched in your hours, paid your dues
You’ve endured the lonely, longing, empty, dismal, single blues
You’ve cried alone, with Bridget, Ben, Hagen, Daz, and Jerry,
Hugging your pillow tightly, through fretful, forlorn nights, so many
Your surely next, your time is nigh
No longer will they glance briefly askance, and walk underwhelmed on bye,
They’ll double take, astonished, stunned and in awe,
Their Jaws in need of recoiling, as they fall immediately to the floor
Overwhelmed by your beauty, both inside and out,
A fire ignited in their hearts that just cannot be doused.
But while you await that moment, and hope that it comes soon
Your friends’ loves around you grow stronger, they blossom and they bloom
They’re moving so fast, a ring, a house, a car,
Little footsteps soon to be heard, in the future not so far.
Much maligned and undesired, of the group you surely are the pariah
The dregs of the barrel you are seen by most, yet for true love you still aspire
You refuse to give up on love, to the ideal you still cling
Praying for any morsel of its essence, a brief romance, nah yet a fling.
Although you feel alone, you’re not; another shares your situation,
In fact you are its embodiment, its literal personification
Your worry is identical, your situation and your story,
Its tale is of your life, the perfect allegory.
Like you, it’s watched its peers, one by one, being selected
While it lies there in their dust, pitiful and dejected,
Can you see just how your plight, your quandary, is mirrored and reflected
As you both wait desperately in hope, while feeling most rejected.
This thing that I do speak of, it never has been prized,
Its end is in fact precisely, your worst nightmare realised
For it is never regarded or chosen, never is it taken
It is perpetually discarded, forever scrapped and forsaken
This keeps you up at night; you toss and turn as you contemplate
The idea that, you too, may suffer, the same tragic, dismal fate
Will someone choose you? Select you? Will you find love? Someday Maybe?
Or will you never be chosen, like the yellow jelly baby?