by Glen Martin Fitch
I worshipped you.
I followed you about
to copy every move.
But I felt doomed to fail
--worse, lose myself
and be consumed.
I studied harder
just to find you out.
I'm never good enough.
You make me sick.
I thought I had no choice
but to compete
and if I beat you,
would I feel complete?
Your friendly banter
was your cruelest trick.
No, I don't want
to be with you,
but be you.
Not as partner, brother,
lover, son, but hero.
Must I either grab a gun
and kill myself
or kill you to feel free?
As envy, pride or lust
soon burns a blush,
Your bonding rivalry
aroused this crush.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011