i watched you like pricking up my ears
and i felt a monarch yellow when you
and your friends aplauded me.
i had the itch to tell you something that week,
but my friend laughed in the locker room and
told me why it was futlie.
now i understand
(or do i still wish you were my brother?)
there you are again
on the TV screen my darling
every day you wake up disgruntled
as you uncrumple another failed
script, because she said it
sounded good, baby, it sounded good.
i don’t blame her for sticking it
out with you until you
shyly let her in.
i tried doing the same but i had the wind
knocked out of me after that pure and simple joyring dance
around my room.
is an impressionistic painting
with a thousand tapestry strokes
and rainy dappled colors.
in my mind,
on the boardwalk of
they showed and appraised you for
half of what you were.
Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry