Need an eye?
I've got one.
Need a tooth?
I've got twenty.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, that's how it should be,
yet I'm somehow never paid back.
Dependable, reliable, laid back,
or so it might seem to outsiders.
Pushed over the edge, neglected.
Suffice to say, we solve our own problems.
Don't need your help, not that you'd offer it.
Need a hand? A foot? A leg?
I'm here, I'm always here,
you can always take mine.
The joker, the artist, the helper, the medic, the dancer, the healer,
the friend,
the backup.
Not the child you brag about at office parties, but instead the one you complain about to your closest coworkers.
You're just so proud, so proud, of the others.
Accomplished, polite, pristine.
Well, news.
I am not your backup. I am not your medic, your entertainer, your joker.
I am not there for your amusement.
I am not the oldest or the youngest.
And I matter.