Green Tinted Eyes

I was born with hands too empty, 

palms outstretched, always reaching, 

always watching someone else hold 

what I never had.

Jealousy sat beside me in classrooms, 

whispered in my ear at birthdays, 

wrapped itself around my ribs 

whenever someone laughed a little too hard 

at a joke that wasn’t mine.

I have traced the outline of envy, 

run my fingers over its shape, 

learned the weight of wanting, 

not just to have, but to be.

I have swallowed the bitter taste of almost, 

measured myself against the golden edges of others, 

tallied up the inches between me and enough.

And even now, I wonder, 

if I peeled back my skin, 

would I find green woven into my bones?

Or would I find nothing at all?

Written: 2025