Poem: Appropriate Jealousy

When she’s kissed
she’s alive,
wanted and wanting
and I am jealous.
I am never alive
not kissed, nor loved, not held.
I am.
This is all.

Little comments
that dig at my soul.
Little kisses
that inflate her ego.
Rightly so.
I am jealous.
Rightly so.

He is nothing.
So I am neither.
She is everything
and I would kiss her
if she accepted.

She remembers every moment
every kiss with clarity.
I barely remember
how things were
before the turn and tangle
of his words.

I would kiss her
if I wasn’t so twisted
and she weren’t so valuable.
She’s alive when she’s kissed.

My lips would kill her.


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