my brothers are not my blood, but they are mine. we have been through tragedy and triumph together. they have been my shoulder to cry on, and i have wiped away many of their tears myself. my soul will always be tied with theirs.
people tell me i will survive. that i won’t be able to remember this one day. that i will get over it. and maybe i will. but i will not forget. my blood, and my bones, and my cells, and my sprint won’t let me. they will never let me recover from you.
for christmas i got a mind full of rage and a body labeled as a sex object. i guess i was worse this year than i thought.
i am argumentative. i am opinionated. that does not make me loud.
i have bookshelves of dreams. all dying to be the one i choose to live out.
i hate big houses. with their empty space. i only have sadness to fill it.
i wish you were laconic. you aren’t. you just don’t care.
she looks like me, talks like me, acts like me. and i know you can’t stand that she’s still not quite me.
as the dust settles, all i see is a mutilated version of who i used to be.
i wonder what 10 year old me would do if i told her that her best friend is actually the love of her life.