out of a thousand poems, 
there is one that is halfway
decent. and i'm still jealous
(and a little embarrassed) 
that you were the one
who wrote it.

i wanted to get inspired,
so i read some of your stuff
like i was almost interested,
and then like i was a disciple,
and i didn’t like myself when
i realized what i was doing. 

i crumpled the paper like
i was actually destroying 
something. the more i tried
to write all the pretty words
i had wanted to say to all the
pretty girls or the boys i caught
in some self-denial, the more i
kept writing prototypes for
death threats.

i don't think i meant to harm
you. i think i just wanted 
to beat you at 
something.