I'm going insane
Stuck in place with nowhere to go
And the she-devil on the way
My sanity left with the two I had
One alone and the other away for the night

So I sit and wait
Until someone saves me
From what I know will happen
Reminding myself to bite my tongue
And hold back everything

She'll be gone soon
Then you can hide from the world again
Run to your room and close the door tightly
Hopefully this will all be over soon
And someone will find you alive

Cassandra 3d

The difference between faking and real life is that you can learn to fake positive thinking but you can't always learn to fake positive feeling.

From a conversation I had with my sister the other day.

The beauty of a woman
Is not in the clothes she wears,
The figure that she carries,
Or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman
Must be seen from her eyes,
Because that is the doorway to her heart,
The place where love resides.

The beauty of a woman
Is not a facial mole,
But true beauty in a woman
Is reflected in her soul.

It is the caring she lovingly gives,
The Passion that she shows.
The beauty of a woman
with passing years only grows and grows

saranade Apr 20

My hand held out...
...to guard your back
When your friendships lacked
...to give money or supplies
When you couldn't survive
...to hold your hand
When you needed support
...to give you a hug
When you needed love
...to high five yours
At all of your endeavors
...to pat on your back
When you succeeded this or that
...to throw a thumbs-up
Because you never gave up

My hand held out...
...to cover my eyes
Through all of the lies
...to hide evidence
When you lacked common sense
...to understand the unreal
Amounts of items you'd steal
...to my chin to stipulate
The way you'd manipulate
...to cover my heart and divert
From your stories that hurt.

I could do this when I had two hands.
I could juggle these separate demands.
My dominant hand is limp now.
The tasks I take on are now simple.
I can only do one thing at a time.
Like, write out this single line rhyme.

When you see my hand out...
...from utter desperation
Please don't tabulate your accommodation
...remember I never asked before my disability
That you had previously admired my stability
...homeless, dirty and hungry
Offer to help me, without charging money
...keep in mind, it's the only one I have
My abilities and tasks all need to be halves
...perhaps don't act put-out or surprised
Because the person who's asking is paralyzed.

I feel like my sister is so concerned with money, she didn't offer help to her newly disabled sister (me) until I could pay her. When things got worse, she didn't even check on me because she knew I had no money.
somewon Apr 19

i know you're hidding
beneath the pebbles
or the oceans

but i swear i'll find you
& once i do

once i do

you'll fill me in with all the shit
you've been through
& that's making your mind
fall so

i know you re online here
you cant hide forever
Beau Scorgie Apr 17

My father always told my sister and I
not to bite the hand that feeds.
But I look down at my hands
and see scars where my own teeth
have drawn blood.

Jenna Erwin Apr 10

I once knew a girl that was my sister by choice
But not by blood
We were always together since the age of 5
But things change and people grow up
New opportunities arise for one to strive
But the other feels left behind
I saw her start to drift away
Right before my eyes
Leaving a hole in my heart
Leaving my life completely

Genevieve Apr 8

You ask why I wont
get intimate with you
and your confused why I am so cold
why I no longer want your touch
you physically have
hurt me and
emotionally too
With MS and Two babies
plus You,
Maybe this should inspire you
to help me without the yelling!!
To not kick me in my gut
or head.
To not choke me when your angry;
or call my babies mean things
maybe if you wanna touch me
and have sex with me
you should
get real
when your abusive
my thoughts are F U Go To Hell!!

This poem was inspired by my sisters husband Tim who is scum
of thee earth and I wish Emmy could get away but its a hairy situation. He often will wonder why she wont get near him but yet she does still satisfy at times (Blech) I wish for her a husband that will lift her up and not kick her while she's already been down for years with Ms and his lame self being cruel last 4yrs and now it is escalating!! I don't know what to do except be there when she calls on me.
ju Sep 2011

She lets me try it on.
I want it. But I don’t get presents like she does.
It’s beautiful. Bright with a white, fluffy trim. Zip and
poppers all the way up.
She widens her eyes. Twists her hands into claws
and she says “Little Red, come here and climb into bed…”
I laugh. Her wolf sounds just like Grandma.
Ma swings her arm back. I stop.
She turns to see what’s changed. It isn’t funny anymore.
I hear the thwack as Ma’s hand connects with her nose. It
was an accident.
Should’ve been the side of her head.
Now there’s blood.
She buries her face, wraps her arms round my waist.
A darker red blooms on the nylon.
She calms down but she’s shaking. We untangle and I help
her on with the coat.
I don’t want it.
We wait for a while in silence; shredding lollypop sticks,
peeling the top off an old lemonade-can.
She starts to cut neat, tiny crosses into her fingertips.
Not deep.
But I’ve seen enough. I feed the lollypop sticks and
lemonade-can to the cracks between the planks of the pier.
The hood covers her eyes completely. I think she’s stopped
“You look just like Little Red” I tell her.
She says “Maybe I am.”

Molly Byrne Apr 6

When my sister is tickled
She curls, with her knees tucked up
And she pins her elbows to her body,
As though she is protecting her
Weakest parts from attack.

When I was younger
I was in the curl of her elbows and the tuck of her knees.

We played with ducks and dogs and dolls.
Our rooms were kingdoms.
I could hear her dreams through the wall between our beds.

We grew up and she went to school,
Equipped with a blonde head, full of learning, full of teeth.
The teachers loved her, and she let them quiz her and lecture her.
She has always known how to hold still.

When we go out I wear jeans and she wears skirts
And she knows how to cut her hair.
When she tells me it looks like I have a comb-over
I wear my hair parted in the middle for two years.
When we go out I notice how our bodies are different.

When we were younger
She held out her pristine hands and told me
That mine were dirty
But her teeth were too big and her head was alien.

When we are both home we do the dishes
And we dance to music and laugh too loud like our mother taught us.
When we dance we dance like fools because grace
is not something that runs in our family.
When we dance I notice how our bodies are the same.

She grew into the alien head, cut her hair short, grew it again.
She got braces to fix the teeth.
The dentists loved her, and she let them poke her and twist her.
She has always known how to hold still.

When we were younger we had a dollhouse of toys
And a set of candles shaped like children in a Christmas choir.
The candles had painted faces and small, soft wicks, never lit.
She chose them; Two little candle girls, with aprons and dresses in starched wax.
The maids, they were called, because
To my sister
the fun in dollhouses was always in the order of things.

When we were younger I was a part of her world
And I was too young to really know what that meant.
I was the reason the maids cleaned
I knocked down kitchens
And played with hard plastic and rubber animals
And my hair was never combed
And my hands were always dirty.

I was a part of her world and I didn’t know what that meant.
By the time I learned she was packing her things away
The same way the maids cleaned their dollhouse.
She took the pieces I held out of my dirty hands
And knocked down the towers I had made of her blocks.

My sister realized that the more she was played with
The more the wax would chip away
Until the face was blank and the children were grown and someone mistook her
For a candle.  
So she took herself out of children’s hands, and left only the parts of herself
That couldn’t be broken.

At my grandmother’s funeral people looked at old photos of Grandma and told Sarah how much they looked alike.
They groped in the empty space for a face they missed
and felt Sarah instead.
She let them grab, let them draw lines between wide eyes and big teeth.
She has always known how to hold still.

Sarah holds things together better than most.
Everywhere she goes she cares for children,
Or people who have let their broken bits fan out across the floor,
Because she knows how to pick up their pieces
And smooth out the knots in their hair,
And clean the dirt off their hands.
I like to think she learned all that from me.

I do well in school, and get my own braces, and smile when I talk to the relatives.
I have learned how to hold still.

At my grandmother’s wake, my sister opened up her arms,
Held me close, and we cried.
And I was in the curl of her elbows and the tuck of her knees again.

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