Sitting behind the garbage can, picking at the grass,

When I was only six, seven, eight, nine-

Alone, again, because I was always chosen last.

They have friends, well, where are mine?

I thought I had found my people, but I guess

They just began to go away,

I should have expected less,

So here I am again, in my dismay.

You know it’s bad when teachers sit with you at lunch,

And ask you, “do you have no one?”

Before, I had a hunch,

But now I’m sure: I have no one.