Pigtails and a rosary in my hand.
that's the little girl I used to be.
I liked her,
Innocence flowing free.
Whenever she had a problem
she turned to God.
Believin' He'd fill her every will.
Prayin' through the good,
the bad and all in between.
A faithful little teen.

I think she'd hate me.

"one day you will believe and see you are capable of loving and capable of being loved"

Every make-up has a name,
Every shade is labeled differently.
Her lipstick is called Trapped
It’s a beautiful blood red
She applies to the corners of her lips
To accent their shape.
She always couples that with
But He Still Loves Me, her blush.
A purple, yellow and green combination
To make her cheekbones pop.
Her eye shadow is called
I'll Try Better Next Time
When applied it gives her a
Perfect smoky eye.
Her foundation comes in
A socially accepted beige titled:
*Everything’s Fine, I Promise

Dear friend,
My sister is a *******
trip.

My sister
encapsulates her own name.
By definition it means
“admirable, wonderful”.
She’s spoken in sunsets
since she was born.
I’ve seen people
surround her solely
to hear her
next words.

You will never meet
someone as
bright.
It makes no sense,
humans don’t illuminate
themselves.
That’s true,
she illuminates rooms.
Her aura has always
been eagerness followed
by hilarity.

I haven’t seen
anyone yawn in
her presence in
two years
for fear of missing
out on anything
she’d say.
Everything is exaggerated,
her smile
her laugh
her clothes
herself.



My life has been
defined by her very existence.
I know happiness
because she’s
lived 19 years of it.
She came into this world first,
and it suits her.
She said hello before
I took my first sip of air.

She ***** around
and still manages to make
something beautiful.
She ***** around
and still manages to be
something beautiful.
She is abstract art
along with the likes of
Picasso
she is hard to look at.
You have to squint your eyes
to understand her whole.
Step back and look at her
her voice is worth galaxies.
I’m proud to
be of relation.

My sister
is my sister
is my twin
is Miranda.

After hooking up and having ***
on the floor at a rager with a stranger.
After having to be reminded of your name,
again.
After avoiding each other,
taking different paths
just so we don't have to see each other.
After looking down when
we accidentally take the same path.
After embarrassment  
wondering what he told his friends,
because I know what I told mine
a lot with many details.  

After all that,
we woke up today and realized:
we were in love.

There is something about it,
parties with too much alcohol
and boys I've yet to taste. There
is something about it, sneaking
off into the shadows to do what
I want with whomever I please.
There is something about the
confidence you get, because
we chose each other to be our
bad decision of that night.
There is something about it,
the regret of never looking you
in the eyes again, cause god
****** our campus is too
small. There is something
about it, the rumors that do
not **** me off as much as
they should. There is a sense
of humor in the way I know
what people saw me do but
my give a **** level seems to
be broken. There is something
about it, friday nights, alcohol
and boys I have finally tasted.

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.