The Other One
Once I realized I wasn’t the one writing
These mediocre poems I was able to
Tip my hat to the secret writer
And let him be—
Have at it, my old friend
I could then disavow them
Without any sense of culpability
Skim through them once or twice
Roll my eyes and turn the page
Maybe read the first line and quit
Skim the title and scoff, next.
But every now and then I would
Read one the next morning that,
Maybe it was the full blue moon
Or the second cup of espresso, almost
Seemed…. sort of, kind of, ok good?
And I would be stricken with waves
Of envy—that should have been me!
Like finding an old friend on Facebook
Embracing a sultry young lover,
Living his best life,
The one you never had the courage
To get off your ass and seize.
So I began to read more critically
Look for its flaws
Tear it down
Rip it to shreds.
Trash. This is all trash
I could do better
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