it’s a secret you see,
that my jealousy
isn’t as plain as a Jane
she’s a much spindlier kind
that forces my hand to feed her
she’s not really envy either
though those dark green colours
do suit her
it’s that I strive to be
something grander
and on some of these days
through some of the ways,
spiral down my own stairwell
when I search for better
place you up high
and pour myself bitter
it’s more a self hate I guess
but you’d think so much less
of my cool armor
that I polish and shine
for you to see your reflection
a tortoise who’s shell
(but please do not tell)
is actually a darkly hopeless collection
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