Stabs at me like a Meyerco bolt action knife
at both sides
squeezing, until black tar comes out
because all that is left of me is nicotine
the rest of me
in retirement homes, theatres,
and a thousand boring conversations.
Grit my teeth to keep the jealous from encumbering
my already curved, weighted shoulders
every line of poetry she writes
is carved into my flesh, reminding me of
passion I’ve lost
dreams I’ve forgotten
goals I never accomplished.
Looking at her book fill the shelves
just reminds me of my own inadequacy.
Giving up what I thought was my only purpose
for rent, and
My job is to make people smile
and when they do,
envy and jealousy stay buried,
out of sight, out of mind.
Keeps me happy,