Poetry

Talking to Myself

“Conscience makes cowards of us all” – Hamlet

I am jealous. Yes, I will admit it. So what? I don’t like to share, which is funny, because people have to share me. I often spread myself thin.
I am angry.
You try not to let it get the best of you, but I know you can feel me seething through your pores. You know you’re pissed.
But I’m in a position where I can’t say or do anything… Except leave
That’s what you always do!!
But I don’t want to anymore. I think those watching have come to expect that of me… From me. I can’t just give them what they want.
Yet you beat yourself up all the time doing exactly that. Why do you think you’re so angry? You stress yourself trying to please others and your efforts go unnoticed. Why do you think you are jealous.
I am only jealous of what is mine.
And what you feel should be yours; like love, attention, affection.
I get all of that.
Do you really?
Yes really. I don’t want for anything…
Then why are you so mad at yourself?
I never said I was mad at me.
You see… you think you’ve changed so much, but you’re still the same. You are ME!
But I am not you…

Me: 1
Me: 0

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