I can stand it
Every minute
Of every second
Of every moment
She makes me so mad
Mad doesn’t even do justice to how she makes me feel sometimes
I love her to death
But she slowly kills me
But the sad part is
She doesn’t even know…
She acts like shes so good
Like the best there is
She thinks shes so tough with her slick sly words
That pierce you at her anger
Venomating you with reminders
Of how bad she truly is
She’s so fake
Like Barbie fake
All stuck up and conceited
But I know this isn’t her
But maybe it is
I hate it how I let her get under my skin
I hate it
My jealously toward her is unbelievable
And I cant figure out why
Its like were in a competition
But she already won
With out even trying
I listen to her day in
And day out
On how she wrote this
And wrote that
But im tired of hearing it
Tired of hearing how she took my voice
And used it for her own
She writes as much as I use Kleenex tissue to wipe my tears
And that being a lot
I just
Ugh
Its not fair
How she get all the glory for her work
When mine gets left in the dust
My poems might not be as laced with figurative language as hers are
Or the words as vivid as hers
Or the situations as tight as hers
But mine are real
Completely raw unlike hers
I hate it how I loose to her
I hate it how im completely jealous of her
I hate how I feel like this
I hate it