there is a moment, when i'm in the shower
and i slowly begin to turn the silver handle to cold
i can feel the two extremes beating down against my skin
opposite temperatures battling for control of the small space
half of my body is braving an arctic winter
while the other half retreats, only to find the fires of pompeii
the two sides meet in the middle, and i smile at their contradictions
it is in these moments that i begin to understand my own life
the war waging inside of me is not dissimilar to this
my love of art and love of stability threaten to extinguish each other
leaving me with a love for nothing
i turn off the shower and collapse to the tile
i will make my decision tomorrow
but today i am a fallen soldier,
another casualty in a war of my own making

i walk down the street with a man's hand in mine
our footsteps stomp to a beat, we walk perfectly in time
his messy black curls twist in the winter air
the darkness of his locks contrast with my silky blonde hair

you'll find no similarities in our opposite faces
the only thing connecting us is our hands' embraces
but we've travelled life together, from one home to another
because this man who walks beside me is my dorky older brother

his hair and eyes are dark where mine are soft and pale
his body is broad and round while my bones are sharp and frail
he holds me when I cry and knows how to make me laugh
so you understand why it hurts when they say he's only "half"

"half" is not a word in my sibling dictionary
he's my brother through and through, anything but secondary
we've shared jokes and games and laughter and all our childhood stuff
we share a life and a mother; isn't that enough?

he taught me how to cook and taught me how to heal
he showed me all his games and showed me how to feel
he told me about mario and told me about carts
but most of all he told me how to keep an open heart

so, sure, try and tell me that this man is not my brother
he helped to raise me and has been there like no other
and true family isn't in blood, true family is in the soul
my "half" brother and i are just two halves of a whole

my oldest friend is a girl with a too big mouth and too long hair
she runs around town screaming battle cries
and she tries to fight my wars so that i will not have to
she is loud, unabashed, unapologetic
and she has taught me to never be sorry for who I am

the boys complain that she is abrasive
she is too big, too angry, she takes up too much space
and I ask them if they'd rather she not take up any space at all,
if we should shut our mouths and shrink into ourselves
girls are better seen than heard and they would prefer us to be
smaller, daintier, easier to swallow
but she has taught me to be immense

she walks with her chin in the air as though she is a queen approaching a throne
to the world she is strong; unbreakable
but I have heard her cries, I have wiped her tears
I have picked her frozen body up off the bathroom floor
and she has taught me that no one is unbreakable

she wears nike shorts and a singular black hoodie that carries her scent through the air- shampoo and marijuana permeating the wind
she acts casual and screams to the world that she does not give a **** about how she looks or how they think she looks
but I know that she spends hours on her hair, her nails, her homecoming dress
and she has taught me that there is more than one definition to the word beautiful

she comes to school with hickeys and the scent of drugs and ***
she laughs and jokes
and I let her
because it is her body and what she does to it is not my business
but she has taught me that it is okay to be concerned anyways

we link our hands together and proclaim that we are sisters
we have shared everything from clothes to beds
from meals to test answers
car rides and late nights and head aches to heart breaks
despite what our dna tries to tell us, the blood in our veins, the beat of our hearts,  everything about us knows that we are sisters
and though my father was pale and hers is dark we still have this bond
because she has taught me that, yes, blood is thicker than water, but love is thicker than blood

her hair is golden like spun silk, cascading down her back;
a waterfall; an endless ocean of heavenly light igniting in the sunshine,
sparking around her head and intermingling with the summer air

her hands are stretched skyward as though trying to catch the sun
she twirls across the carpet, her bare feet pale in stark contrast to the dark floor
never once does she miss a step
her body, the image of grace and poise, confident in this moment against the baby blue walls

a brilliant melody reaches our ears and she pauses, then rushes toward the source of lyrical beauty
suddenly, she is flying past me,
down staircases,
across narrow halls,
through wooden doorways,
and into the arms of another.

her face, tragically beautiful, she smiles
and for me, there is nothing else in the world but the symphony that is her laugh
the sound envelopes me in a euphoric embrace and i want to cry

my mind tells me that my feelings are hopeless and her perfection puts her far out of my reach

and it is in that moment that I realize I have been touched by an angel.

when i was just a little girl
mama said, "you're the prettiest girl in the world"
and at four years old, sitting with a mirror
i batted my big green eyes, and simply believed her
for this was just something that i'd always been told
it was a fact of the world that i was beautiful

six years old, with long, blonde curls
and mama said, "you're the prettiest girl in the world"
i remembered the phrase, but doubted her words
i had no front teeth, and a voice too soft to be heard
but it must've been true, 'cause mama's don't lie
but how could it be that the prettiest girl would be so shy?

eight years old, with a baseball cap on my head
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i looked down at my soccer jersey and cleats
"if i'm so pretty how come i have such big feet?"
but mama didn't miss a beat, she was so smart
she said, "you're prettiness shines through your great big heart"

ten years old, with a notebook and a pencil full of lead
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i barely heard the words, and decided i was fat
pretty girls like shopping, not books and baseball bats
and the pretty girls don't need to constantly be reading
because when you see a pretty boy, a pretty girl is leading

twelve years old, and wishing i was dead
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i knew it was a lie, and i was severely ******
if i'm so pretty then what are all these ugly scars left on my wrist?
but i nodded to my mother, and told her that i knew
maybe i was dying, but i wouldn't bring mom down, too

fourteen years old, lying in my bed
"you're the prettiest girl in the world," mama said
i knew it was a lie, but i'd made my peace with that
i'd always be a little ugly, i'd always be a little fat
i didn't look like a model, but that was okay
i never would be pretty, but who cares, anyways?

now i'm fifteen, and i'm starting to be okay
"you're the prettiest girl in the world" is what mama will say
i know i'm not the prettiest, but more importantly, i'm kind
real beauty isn't in the face, real beauty's in the mind
i'm learning to accept the hand that i've been dealt
and i'm starting to heal my heart after all the pain i've felt