There are just some things
That will never leave your heart after you see them
Like your 6 year old sister heaving a bowling ball all the way to the lane
Just to let it drop
And watching in anticipation as it creeps towards the pins
It's not even those things, really
It's just the fact that I will miss her little smile
watching her grow up
Wherever he'd believed me,
it'd been a temperate climate.
Not too cold, not too hot, one
of those Buddhist middle path
days where the weather sat to
meditate. What I'd told him was,
"well, my friend, there is nothing
new under the sun."
He giggled like a 6 year old and
said, "except when I turn over
The cancer ate my sister's heart,
her liver, her bones,
and now I'm alone
with my sick-stomached guilt
and my never-told confession.
Remember, we were younger. Our neighbor's sister
came home with a bloody nose and you turned to me,
"What would you do if that was me?"
6 year old certainty, "I'd kill them,"
swelling with 6 year old bravado,
who hurt you."
Our mother was appalled and our father told me not to say things I didn't mean, but
I meant it then.
And sweetheart, I mean it now.
I can't kill the cancer, because it's already killed you.
I can't kill the husband, because he's already dead
(left you widowed and heartbroken, my only sister,
and I am to blame).
And so I'm standing here, looking at the
jagged-box-shaped rocks so far far far below,
and I'm thinking
(stacking box, after box, after box
in her empty-floored apartment),
and I'm wishing
(to the crier of sorrows I've never known)
and I'm breathing
(if only he hadn't been the adulterer)
and I'm jumping
We are the crazy kids,
Crazy naive teenagers they say;
They expect greater, but they kills us as if we're less
9 year old's are cutting
6 year old's are swearing
14 year old's are smoking
11 year old's are drinking
16 year old's are getting pregnant
17 year old's are getting high
18 year old's are wasted
19 year old's are drop outs
No no no no no no
That's just the thing, they expect us to be someone who can possibly meet their standards
They say that our generation is reckless and stupid,
but are they forgetting who raised it?
They think it's easy,
They think they're always there to save us,
but little they did know
we already died
pretending we haven't
You are making my face sour. Mom is mad at you for skipping school and I have to talk her down again.
Maybe next time you can write me a 1200 word essay on "How stupid your decisions are", So I can mark it up with red pen before you lose grades on your ribs.
Sister, you need to calm your ass down, because the world isn't a race and the underdog doesn't always come in first, or even second.
But take a second to stop breathing that smoke you call air, everybody is choking on the smell of teen-spirit.
The tattoos not yet ingaved in your skin will serve as a reminder of how you took last place in a family full of sharp broken pieces of glass.
I tell Mom "Don't worry, it's just a phase, she just needs a second to find her place, in this world" But, at this rate, I'm not sure you will.
Because, people will knock on your door and hand you bottles of quick fixes and Novocaine, and I hope that this poem isn't in vain to serve as a reminder of that little girl that still caught fireflies in her teeth.
And I am sorry I left for 3 years without watching your molecules multiply, but I wrote my times tables on the back of my diploma for you to study.
That 6 year old girl with woodland creature cheeks hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl who never failed to puke in the car after a glass of milk hasn't been forgotten.
That 6 year old girl that cried every time we told anyone you are cat food under the kitchen table hasn't been forgotten.
I am sorry, can you bring her back now?
And for me, could you stop making Mom cry, she has watered so many Forget-me-nots that I am afraid her roots are drowning.
Don't get me wrong. I appreciate all the time you bared swords and shields to defend me against the stereotypes that threatened to staple them themselves to the inside of our cheeks, but come on...get your shit together.
We are blood-brothers...with vaginas.
Don't you dare break that bond because if you do I will lock you in the closet, turn the lights of and leave you in there screaming and crying until the rebellion leaves your bladder.
I'm your sister, not your mother. I will not birth any more brother screw-ups for you to father.
Author: I wrote this for my younger sister who is only 3 years younger than me, the youngest one in our family. It started when I used to call her "Pickle".
Think about it this way
You're complaining of not having a valentines today
Some children dont have a mother on Mothers day
No one to teach their child to bake
No one to braid the 6 year old girls hair
No one to give dandilion bouquets to.
A child who doesnt have a father to love on Fathers day
No one to teach them how to play baseball
To ride a bike,
No one to teach him or her to pitch a tent
A child sits in a foster home on Christmas or even on Thanksgiving
His or her only wish is to have a loving family
Have a chance to believe in magic
Have a home
A big feast displayed out infront of them.
Or maybe someone sits crying on Remeberance day,
because they lost their husband, dad, mom or big brother
You cant get back someone who is gone
A child may not have even met a past family member.
Look at it realistically.