I used to think
I would never be
jealous.
Now I am.

It's a nasty feeling.
It feels like a leech stuck in my neck,
greedily sucking out all happiness.
But it's not a leech -
it's a part of me.

I'm disgusted with myself.

I don't want to be possessive,
but I am.
I don't want to get furious,
but I do.
I feel like a rabid animal,
sulfureous,
about to spit fire.

I'm afraid I might hurt him -
not with fire, but with words.
I might want to hurt him first,
before I get hurt myself.

Breaking up
suddenly sounds
like a good thing.
Why should I wait for
him to discard me?

I'm making myself sick
with paranoia.
I feel like a loser
who has lost her mind.

I used to think jealousy is
a symptom
of a low self-esteem.
Only weak people have it.
Is love making me weak?
There is this expression
»to have a weakness for somebody« -
is that what it means?

I'm ashamed of being jealous.
But I can't help it.

I cried all night.