I have taken inspiration  from"The perks of being a Wall flower"For the title of this poem. 

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Does anybody know the real me,

I wonder, If even the he who says we,

Knows the real side of the poor me,

And who to blame, me it would be!

Just the person people ignore,

Unless and until they need a chore.

Painful, but I realized  I am just a wallflower.

Partial, I observe I help, But for him I am never real.

I cant be, I am just a wall flower,

The beauty, the relief; I heal,

But to be his, I should be real and,

A wall flower doesn't grow on land.

Sad, he says I am too far to reach,

Does he know am down at his hearth, in his heart beat?

Maybe he does, but the wall flower is good.

A machine, inert, just works on need. 

No emotions, no hurt, I am just so perfect,

Little does he know, the me-wrecked.

It is just an ignorance, the word just a pacifier.

Truth, far and unfair, no one can love a wall flower.

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Quote:

  "In spite of her plainness that would have made wallflowers of other women, she radiated a great sense of self-importance."   -Robert Galbreith, The Cuckoo's Calling.

Written by this uncanny wallflower

~Chaahat