Read me

It amazes me how jealousy somehow manages to sneak it’s way into me. I don’t look at things and say “God I want that”. No. I look at things nd feel a twinge in my heart because I don’t have that. But see, it’s the things I’m jealous of that make this intresting.

I’m jealous of the pictures. How I don’t have one.

I’m jealous of the drinking. How I can’t do it.

I’m jealous of the parties. How I’ve never been.

I’m jealous of the smoking. How I’m too afraid.

I’m jealous of the families. How much mine hates me.

I’m jealous of the happiness. How I fight for smiles.

I’m jealous of the love. How I feel selfish just for asking.

I’m jealous of the relationships. How everyone gets along.

I’m jealous of the mothers. How normal they are.

I just want to be normal… But I know I never will be. And that’s my biggest envy of all.