I am a sticker strapped to a chest, telling all, revealing nothing.
My clothes speak too, dictating my location, my hat says that I cannot join.
Because my books are vocal, the basketball never chances to sit in the hoop.
Sandals, flats, and wedges all fair game to me, keep still on the sidelines of popularity.
I am put on a shelf, like sardines in a grocery.
My nutrition facts stagnant,
I will forever swim in brine.