I am a jealous bitch.

My eyes are green and my heart is greener
I’ll hate you for your blood that bleeds red.

I am a jealous bitch.

I’ll walk through the trees and say, “Please,
I wish I was made out of wood” –
Oak or pine would be fine
Let my hair be luscious like leaves swaying in the breeze just so I could be
still and alone with myself.

I am a jealous bitch.

And do you know why?
It’s because I’m afraid –

Afraid that if someone seems better than me it means I’m not good enough.
Afraid that if my boyfriend sees a girl with bigger tits, a prettier face, smaller waist who’s less broken than me and I’m not there to stop him, he’ll leave me
and if I am, he’ll deceive me.

I am a jealous bitch.

Because I think I’m supposed to be the smartest, best-looking, most confident, clever, graceful woman who ever walked
who can tell the best jokes and hold her liquor
with the heart of an artist and the soul of a saint
who cooks for you, cleans for you, serves you a drink with a smile and still gets 8 hours of sleep every night

I am a jealous bitch.

Afraid that second place is just as bad as last so I don’t even try.
Instead, I sit in a boiling pot of my own insecurity, resentment and shame
and cook until a putrid scent of self-hatred spews from my bones
and wait for a knife and a fork to come stabbing through my veins
eaten alive from the inside out
swallowed whole by my own misgivings
I wash it all down with the blood of my failures.

I am a jealous bitch.

And I’m jealous of you, and of you, and of you
and I’ll try to turn it around and look up to you
and admire
and use this as fuel to push me to go where I want to,
to let your confidence be my courage
to let your ability be my growth
to let you your light be my sun
but I’m not comfortable in my own skin –
I’m more comfortable in the skin of the bitch I’ve become
because it’s easier than facing the truth
so I see you and want to be you and feel all those things that I lack
but instead I sit back and I say,
“Well, she ain’t shit anyway, I mean
look at her shoes”
as if the fact that I’m wearing Steve Madden leather makes me loveable,
that the strap between my ankle and heel is protection from my treason
I’d like to use it to hang myself.

I am a jealous bitch with nothing to lose
or so I’d like to think because jealousy
is fear of something being taken away

I am a jealous bitch and I hate every breath I take in
but if you’re taking some too
I’ll want to take it from you
and hope that you choke on it

and if you do?
I’ll be jealous of that too

because although I feel I have nothing,
I’m terrified to lose it.

EJZ 04.26.2015

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