These Jealous Days

Who is this woman in this reflecting glass staring back at me? 
Those shifty, cryptic eyes I once recognized so well now appear as if they are purposely trying to deceive. 
With a shriveled face full of crow’s feet, dark under-eye circles, and thick bags, how could I still compete?
Daily interactions and conversations for the better part of five decades. Why do you choose to betray me now?
With a withered mask full of thin creases, hollowed cheeks, and stringy grey hair, how could I still compete? 
Who will want me now that my beauty has faded away?

In our once-cozy breakfast nook, now turned into inhospitable workstations, you spoke so callously.
I have fallen in love with someone else, and we want to spend the rest of our lives together.
Not an ounce of tenderness in his conceited voice.
Not a hint of compassion in his disinterested eyes.
Though thousands of thoughts impaled my mind, I couldn’t find a reason to utter a single word.
At that moment, I knew I was staring at a smug shell of a man I may have never truly known.

An inevitable online search produced countless anxiety-producing results, overwhelming my ill-prepared mind. 
Who is this dazzling young woman with those sapphire eyes confidently draped over your arm?
Misinformed? Misled? Was there an awareness that I existed? Did she ignore your advances anyhow?
Should I hate her? Warn her? Feel empathy for her? Or push as quickly as possible towards indifference?
I’m cognizant now of what I wasn’t aware of before.
If it wasn’t her, it would be someone else. 
If it wasn’t now, it would have been later. 

Another full day running through the gamut of emotions.
I am not beautiful.
Rejection. Dejection. Sorrow.
I am not wanted. 
Doubt. Confusion. Shock.
I am not desired.
Dread. Panic. Fear.
How dare you rob me of my dignity and class?
Though designed to reflect, this mirror instead distorts, shattering my confidence and rendering me worthless.
Who is this woman in this reflecting glass staring back at me?
Those shifty, cryptic eyes I once recognized so well now appear as if they are purposely trying to deceive. 
With tiny, white patches speckling my arms, disrupting my once sunbaked bronze sheen, how could I compete?
Daily interactions and conversations for the better part of five decades. Why do you choose to betray me now?
With tiny, white patches speckling my arms, disrupting my once sunbaked bronze sheen, how could I compete?
Who will want me now that my beauty has faded away?

When I ruminate on the words you spoke so candidly, I cannot help but cry at what has been ripped away.
I have fallen in love with someone else, and we want to spend the rest of our lives together.
Whittled down until only insignificance remains.
Chopped away until I can no longer recognize my self-worth. 
Thoughts of ways to seek revenge to right this wrong give way as I crumble to the floor with exhaustion. 
Entertaining these intrusive thoughts of you two together, I seethe, weep, and want to die.

When the world wasn’t watching, I behaved properly, followed societal rules, and honored our vows.
All the while, you were searching, patrolling, courting, and crafting my replacement.
I dismissed and ignored the unmistakable signs despite their developing and obvious prevalence.
Should I hate her? Warn her? Feel empathy for her? Or push as quickly as possible towards indifference?
I’m cognizant now of what I wasn’t aware of before.
If it wasn’t her, it would be someone else. 
If it wasn’t now, it would have been later. 

Another full day running through the gamut of emotions.
I am not beautiful.
Dismay. Irritation. Agitation.
I am not wanted. 
Shame. Embarrassment. Humiliation.
I am not desired.
Anger. Rage. Wrath.
How dare you rob me of my dignity and class?
Though designed to reflect, this mirror instead distorts, shattering my confidence and rendering me worthless.

Written in 2024

Copyright, The Poetry of Bryan Buser