It’s wrong to say that no one loves me,
Or to say I haven’t a friend;
My life is full of family
And happiness to no end.
But, as girls often do,
I sometimes get depressed.
Then find myself as number two,
Everyone around me seeming unimpressed.
I am always someone’s choice,
So maybe I should feel what is shown,
But then I hear my loved one’s voice
Calling out a name that’s not my own.
I’m not quite clingy or jealous or selfish,
But once it happens twice or thrice,
The lonely starts to make me wish
That I could be someone’s number one,
Instead of being, always, second choice.