He sits there, so content, so smug.
I feel as if it's a race, a competition.
And he's won it.
I can't understand how he did it.
But what he has is a lie,
And he cannot deny it.
He claimed it for the status
Just so he could say he won, and I lost,
Because he wants to hurt me.
But I hurt him first.
Does it make him happy to know my jealousy?
But if I no longer care for him,
Why do I mock him, tease him?
Perhaps I never cared at all,
And he is a scapegoat for my anger.
Anger clogs my throat every time I see him.
He won, when I thought I would.
I thought I was better than he.
But is it a question of being better,
Or a question on truly loving someone?
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Copyright Meghan Jacques (aka Version 5), 2000/2001. All rights reserved.