The Silver Medalist

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I may be pretty but she's prettier.
I'm funny, she's hilarous.
Always one better.
Why my outfits are labeled "cute",
hers are flawless.
When my hair is straight...hers is straighter.
When its curly...hers is curlier.
Our silent competition.
She is there everywhere I go.
School. Church. I can't escape her.
She is my constant reminder that I'll never be good enough.
He liked me, he loves her.
...And he's the only one I wanted.
I'm pretty, she's beautiful.
Yeah, I might be the "better",
but she'll always be
the best.
It's become an unhealty obessesion, to out do her in some way.
But
it
never
works.
I'm good, shes great.
It drives me insane.
It seems like all I know how to do is come second to her.





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