I sit and wonder why people never notice me,
The only time they do is when I give ideas which were not meant to be.
It hurts like getting stung by a bee,
Or poured by a cup of steaming hot tea.

I run to my room dreaming that I can rule,
Wishing that I be swept by a magic broom,
To a castle where love is full.

And so I sleep dreaming to be on top,
With my face painted on a big brown pot,
But when I wake up I feel like a small dot.

I cried buckets of rain,
In the end I gained,
That life is not all about pain,
A lesson I learned.