Don’t be jealous of me.
Jealousy is blasphemy
to both your poet and your poetry.
In a jealous rage, your never improve.
Jealousy is contrary to love.
Jealousy is the foulest sin
the brightest angel became entangled in.
What is mine is yours, though it came through me.
You inspired it.
You are the cause of the poet.
This is yours more than mine—
though it was born, creeping through me.
I belong to the humble dark. This is your poetry.