Better.

I see her.

 

perfect

everything just seems

to go her way

winning.

each day I notice

something new –

straight teeth, full hair, arched eyebrows

I hate her.

she has everything

I want –

thriving career,

man at her side

happiness.

her days are productive

her nights are exciting

I settle in

knowing I’ll never be her.

less than perfect

almost great

 

failure.

as if I should

be doing something else in life

 

what about the process?

how much it cost her?

missed family outings

forgotten birthdays

she has friends who don’t

know her anymore

a husband who longs for her heart

the stress she endures

the debt she covers up

and a soul quenched

gasping for help,

thirsty for satisfaction

 

my mind doesn’t care about that.

my perspective doesn’t hear

the quiet screams behind fake smiles

doesn’t see the life behind the camera

my view? inaccurate

but myself wants what she has. Bad.

overlooked. the vocal

recognition I receive at work

missed. the support I

have from day ones

unimportant. the individual success,

small wins, untold beauty

 

it’s unfair

to my being –

everything I am

will never be her

I have my own stride

I have my own pace.

I’m missing out

on my becoming

for someone I’ll never become

 

my self-esteem

my self-worth

my dreams

are dependent on me

dare to be

better than I was yesterday

 

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