i
go through my day jealous. jealous of time, jealous of your looks, your body,
your thoughts, your flawless elbows.
i am jealous of everyone and everything. i am jealous of buildings, beloved
structures where hundreds of people have lived and died, and jealous of babies,
when they cry and when they’re silent. i am jealous of adjectives, verbs i
never employ, and words that i haven’t yet heard. i am jealous of your artlessness,
of the way your shoes are worn just so, the way your hair falls effortlessly, the
way your clothes fit so perfectly. i am jealous of dogs licking other people’s
faces. i am jealous, jealous of the way the wind blows around corners and seems
to speak, but never to me. i am jealous that no two snowflakes are exactly alike,
and i am jealous when the sun touches other people’s faces. but ultimately, i
am jealous because the world isn’t completely and helplessly jealous of me--my
artlessness, my body, my thoughts, my achievements, my perfect elbows.
i speak it as a purgative jealousjealousjealous,
i speak it as a mantra jealousjealousjealous,
i weave it into a spell jealousjealousjealous,
but it ensnares only me
it is only me
and i am jealous of it.
