before this starts
may i apologise
for what you're about to read
is not the work of a poet,
not of a liguist
as much you shall soon see
in this world, there's so much wonder
that i know i cannot be
but that has made me think about
what's so special about me
i cannot dance, nor can i sing
musical intruments aren't for me
i tried to act, but i found that,
there are loads better than me
i'm not a poet, or a writer,
to be or not to be... (?!)
i can't design (can't even draw!)
my sense of fashion's a pity
i don't stand out, drown in the crowd
i guess i'm unexciting
not pretty like her, or funny like him
where does that leave me?
<...to be continued as lyna is bugging the shit out of me>
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