My Envy is Red

I know I’m not supposed to be envious of you, of anyone.

But I just can’t help it.

Every aspect of your life is lit.

When I have so many shadows that will never meet the sun.

You’re used to things coming so naturally and easy for you.

Sugar coats your body and it trails behind you everywhere you go.

Your happy go lucky spirit and always getting the front row.

Everything you touch turns to a shimmering hue.

Glowing, radiating rainbows when you sleep.

Nothing has ever drained from your heart.

Why has everything near you been so sweet, saccharine without tart?

You have very few emotions, content, happiness, ambition, and irritation; but it doesn’t go too deep.

I’m sorry; I’m not here to insult.

I enjoy your presence very much.

You put a smile on everyone’s face, but you’re afraid of emotional touch.

No one ever physically knew you as a result.

You’ve always been well known, well liked, never been talked bad about.

No rumors, no humiliating memories following close behind.

For projects and schoolwork you were always sought out for your expanded mind.

You’re going to be valedictorian, without doubt.

I have to struggle to maintain all A’s.

You don’t need to study to get a perfect score on a test.

You’ve always been on top, will always be the best.

I just hope and dream to be in the top five, and fight to open doors to the future and to discover many paths and ways.

Let’s compare our lives.

Your family gets game night,

Mine isn’t allowed to talk at dinner (when we actually eat together), which doesn’t feel right.

I’m betting they always ask you how school is going, if you’re being challenged, and they go to all of your events, and often give cheesy high fives.

Mine just tell me I talk too much and they don’t want to hear my problems, and are busy, have better things to do.

They argue about who should go to what event, and don’t end up going at all, and it’s an obligation, they don’t enjoy being there for us.

Your parents probably let you voice your opinion, instead of as soon as you want to voice something, mine won’t let you share anything, no option to discuss.

My siblings don’t have an opinion until you’re out of the house, even then my parents wouldn’t listen to our point of view.

They are the parents; the children can’t stand up for themselves, siblings, or go against anything they say.

When we do, threats are apparent.

Compromising isn’t a word over here, whatever they say, goes; to them that is all that’s adherent.

If we try to defend ourselves, anything that pleases us is grabbed from our reach without delay.

I’ve been told to not defend my actions against them.

But how can I not when they say I say I’ve done things I never have?

That they make me out to be a person I don’t even want to get near, and claim that that’s my other halve?

I can never be approved in their eyes, they don’t recognize my individuality, never call me the flower; I’m the stem. 

But who needs their approval when I have friends?

That’s what I’ve always thought.

But this year very few have stood by me; others tied my trust into a knot.

I’m sure your friends treat you with respect and don’t lie to you because they think it’s funny- like I’ve been treated before, and you’ve made so many new friends, where plenty of mine have come to ends.

You’re probably not afraid at night, because you don’t hear a door slam echo through the house- it makes me jump, and think it wasn’t even possible for it to be so loud without breaking the door.

I know you’re family- picture perfect, fun, easy to converse with.

But the thought of mine even attempting to do that outside of public (for show) is a silly myth.

I don’t find comfort within my home, I can’t tell my parents anything, because that’s not a priority, the most important things in our house is completing a chore.

But I’ve learned to get through it, it doesn’t bother me as much anymore, I just dream for a life with my future family far set apart from this one.

Apparently at school I’m funny, I have no shame.

I do get in trouble sometimes, own up to my mistakes, and when a friend can’t get any further down, I take the blame.

I shouldn’t do that though, I only get hurt in the end, and many promising friendships I try to maintain always end up being rapidly done.

Like you and I.

But you’re never bothered by anything at all; your emotions are so stale.

I’m jealous of you in so many things, but my passion is what I’m proud of, my words are always aiding me without fail.

I’m glad I’m spitting all of this out, no need to lie.

If I had your brain I’d feel pretty content.

If I had your thin frame I would enjoy looking in the mirror.

If I was comfortable around my family, life would be a little clearer.

If I had your witty humor I’d be proud of myself without a dent.

If I was fully accepted for who I was anywhere, by anyone, I’d be happy.

If I was as well liked and known for my brains like you I’d be ecstatic.

If I had as many friends, knew as many people, some days I wouldn’t feel like hiding in the attic.

If I didn’t have so much pressure to be excellent from my parents without doubt, school wouldn’t feel pappy.

There are so many attributes of you I wish I had.

Your life seems easier, and a hell of a lot more fun.

My life has trouble spilling out the edges, scribbled across it; sometimes I wish I could just go away from here and start fresh- to run.

My jealousy isn’t green, orange, neon yellow, black, or makes me sad.

It’s a bright warning sign ahead of me, and I drive past it, but there are always others soon to follow.

It’s what I’ve always wondered and observed about you, noticing how your life seems like the good one.

It stays in my brain sometimes, wanting just a small touch of what you’re blessed with, only a glimpse of your rays from the sun.

My jealousy isn’t heavy, thick, or weighs me down; it’s hollow.

You would think that my feelings are harsh and full of dark browns, bile yellow and edgy grays. But it’s none of that, “He has what I want” with emotion I said,

My envy is floating in the air around me whenever you’re near, it makes me wish for things when I hear your voice, whenever you get so many people wrapped around your finger so quickly and charm your way through life.

After all, you’re you.

Someone I wish I had, I’ve admired, and even my flashing envy can’t make me dislike you.

It’s dribbling along the edges of my fingers while I think of you, a color you wouldn’t expect.

My envy is red.