Jealousy is an ugly ugly thing.
I never had long brown hair and my eyes have always been the blue you hated most.
I’ve never been small or adorable and my boobs have always been nearly non existent.
I drank too much when I turned 16 and smoking became my vice even earlier than that.
I never sang in the church choir, but I prayed every night until my knees were black and blue.
God, if love was real, make me pretty like she was to make him want me too.
I hate every spot on my body that make up can’t cover and I don’t have the money to surgically change the shape of my silhouette.
If there was a way to grow these blonde locks faster, I guess I haven’t found it yet.
I never once claimed to deserve you. But I hoped you would accept me anyway.
And the nights like this drag on and on, as I lie in bed awake.
I heard she got engaged. I heard they were married. I heard now he’s happy.
I stand in the mirror’s reflection pulling my hair to reveal my scalp wondering if my brain lies underneath…wondering if I moved quick enough, if you would lose me like I lost you…like we lost the dream..like now it’s too mature to be considered anything.
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Comments about this poem (Jealousy by Simone Graves )
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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