Mr Gatsby and Me

by Apollo

He reaches out to
the green light at end of the bay,
his arm trembling a little,
his dark silhouette showing no emotion
save for his hand. 
I reach out to
the wall in my room,
my hand trembling a little,
my emotions are clear
written by the tears on my face. 
One could say that Gatsby and I
are one in the same.
One could say that we’re not.
Both Gatsby and I are driven
by our hope.
We cling on to that last remaining bit of it
for the sake of our dreams. 
For Gatsby it’s Daisy and the American Dream
for me it’s my career and the need to be loved.
They hurt us with their words
and hurt us more with their lack thereof.
We try to fit into their way of life,
but we both know it’s not what we really want. 
Yes, you could say that Gatsby and I
are the same, but there’s one thing
that makes us different.
Gatsby died with hope still in him
he never gave up on anything.
I fear that I will die without hope,
my optimism shattered by their rules.