Mediocrity is pretty

In elementary school I was the smart one. I knew way more math than the average sixth grader because I grew up with my dad telling me I was his "little genius" and I liked that so I ran with it.

I did everything I could to live up to who he thought I was.

I won a contest in second grade for handwriting. Who cares about handwriting? You would be lucky if you could read my scribbles now. High school doesn't care so why should I?

I won the spelling bee in middle school. That was probably the highlight of my life and isn't that a disappointment?

I won math competitions that I would do on Saturdays. But those trophies are hidden in my closet collecting dust behind the sports ribbons that people actually care about. 

People didn't care that I was smart. I was a little chubby and had braces and didn't know how to do my hair and that's how people saw me.

No one likes the smart kid. 

So I stopped being the smart kid. On the second day of Junior year I decided to call it quits. I dropped all my hard classes. I took normal ones with my friends because friends are more important than what college I end up at, right?

No one knew me as the smart math girl anymore and my dad moved out when I was in 8th grade and took his "little genius" with him.

So I guess that leaves me:

Mediocre at best.

And no one remembers mediocre.