Lucky Third

These feelings shouldn't hurt, I should be on a first name basis with them like lovers. The familiarity of being ignored and replaced, the sharp red sting of self loathing.
These are familiar things, feelings I must have foolishly forgotten.
Where my heart overflows love I step aside for the little wonders, tiny hands and feet.
Where my soul overflows grief, these sandcastles of progress wash away.
Two tides, two oceans, neighboring and never mixing, a body caught between.
I weep for the wonder I was robbed, scream for the misfortune of it all, beg myself for forgiveness.
I'm fighting the hardest I have fought in years; and scarce a soul sees.
I'm fighting again and I am proud for it.
I shouldn't feel like a child,  holding my progress up for the world to see; but like I child I seem when I can't even say I'm, of my destructive habit, clean.
As I write my hands are shaking, body aching, my heart into peices breaking, but here I stand. Here I stand alone; alone in the way I have always been. Alone in the way of someone who has always been a centerpiece in someone's life but never the center of someone's world; the way of someone who has learned that they're never the first choice, or even second best. Alone in the way of someone who's a lucky third place, perhaps a perky side; alone in the way of someone used to not being chosen. Maybe it's a little bit selfish, but for all the years I've burned, the times I've been spurned, I think one human moment has been earned.
So ignore me then; ignore the lucky third. I'll wince and perhaps cry, but I'm long used to being unheard by the heart that reaches out for mine. Used to the fact I have mistaken what is kind for love.