Paige Mar 9
What is it like to really love your body?
To feel confident enough to take a picture of yourself only wearing a bikini or a bra and underwear and post it on the internet?
And we all know that these women that do post photos like these, HAVE to actually like their bodies because otherwise they wouldn't even post a picture that shows their arms in it.
Stepping on a scale or seeing my naked reflection in the mirror is a horrific, terrible experience that I just don't do.
I am 140 pounds, maybe 5,2 and all of my fat sits in my stomach, arms and legs.
It always has.
My stomach sticks out so far I look like I'm 4 months pregnant and my legs look like they came out of a KFC bucket.
I am just disgusting and ugly and it all feels really fucking unfair that I am this, when I have an "identical" twin sister who is maybe 115 pounds, 5,4, beautiful and always has been.
Why is this my cross to bear?
Why can't I be like her?
Lucy Mohr Feb 27
She is the toughest girl I know.
She doesn't let anyone tell her what to do.
She doesn't tell anyone they cannot do it.
She holds her beautiful head up and faces her problems head on.
She has a best friend that does everything and anything for her.
She is the most beautiful, complicated mess I have ever seen.

I know... because she is my best friend Zarina
I Love You Girl!!!!!!!
Broadsky Feb 11
I remember nights when I was so petrified, you'd sit outside the bathroom door for me as I'd shower. I remember nights you'd climb in my bed to soothe my sobs and stop my tears from wetting my pillow. I remember when you'd hold my hand and teach me to be confident with my shoulders back. I remember the nights of endless secret telling and shushes to keep quiet. I remember it all. Yet those sweet pea memories are slowly drifting away back to sea with the memory of who you used to be. I can't seem to get you to look me in the eyes anymore, I can't get you to hold me when I have an episode. I can't get you to spend time with me, your baby sister, and maybe its a big sister thing; growing tired of being your litter sister's keeper. I dont know. But I know there are no more nights of secret telling, there are no more nights of being held while I cry. There are no more nights of you sitting outside the bathroom door for me. There are none.
When do you know to let go?
Whisper Feb 10
It's 3:21 am.
I've shed more tears than I thought to be humanly possible.
My thoughts are racing as I try to sleep.
"Just end it. You don't deserve to be here," I tell myself.

It's 3:46 am.
My pillow's a tissue for my tears
And as I just try to close my eyes, I think of you.

You. My sister. I miss you more than the world.
I know I've said some things.
I know I've upset you.
I know I don't deserve you.

I know so much,
Yet I can't act on any of it.

It's 4:39 am.
I look around for a distraction from my own mind, all I can see is

I miss you.
And I love you.
This is for my sister, who I moved away from. I miss you. And I don't deserve to get those texts you send every hour to check on me.
Suzanne S Jan 28
Two of my baby sisters get their period on the same day,
And I did not think
I could be so proud
Of two bodies for learning to perform a task they were bound to perform,
Nor so scared of what it meant for
The worry in my heart
Every time they walked out the door.
I did not think it was possible
To be so in love with a person -
to feel their fear and shame so keenly as if it were my own
In that moment of contrite confidence:
I need your help.
Is this how it feels to be a mother?
Mariana’s trench gaping with feeling so explosive it could topple buildings?
The instinct to protect and shield and teach,
To share the knowledge of a sisterhood that binds,
while praying that this would be the worst of their pain,
To see stretched out interminably before you their growing and leaving?
But above all the love that demands to make itself known,
That rails against the stall door and crashes feral onto the stage,
Heaving through your skin in a thousand pin prick moments
That just about stop the tears from welling too noticeably,
As you take their hands and lead them to the bathroom door.
Your eyes are like mine
Except not as blind
Very brown too
But more of a hue

Our crowns shine dark
Yours bear many marks
We both fly kites
Yours not in the sky

Beating hearts align
Yet mine less divine
For what you have seen
I never can dream
Marie Dec 2017
pull up your bootstraps
wipe off your chins
our mouths may bleed
but these hearts
are iron armored
lets keep them out
just like we practiced
Francie Lynch Dec 2017
Tears and Blisters,
Connected in body and spirit;
As only twin sisters can know.
Their attachments grow;
From first beat and breath,
Then blanket-warm breasts,
Searching with eyes,
Reaching with smiles.

A double stroller sets their stage:
Two of these and those for every age.
One sitting, one pushing
The swing on the tree;
One feeling, one sensing
What either one sees.
One pitching, one catching,
Which one doesn't matter;
No visible signals to out the batter.
Like sparring partners in the ring,
Tin cans or mittens joined by string,
Or watching backs like tandeming.

Enigmatic in fact or fiction,
Like Rosetta clues to hieroglyphics;
Communicating cryptograms.
The embodiment of the Venn diagram.

The mirror image can be deceptive,
Right seems left when reflected;
Unique and semi-mystical,
As snowflakes or ice crystals;
Yet tight as rings round trees.
Our tears and blisters,
Though twin sisters,
Will divulge individuality.

          (And I'll be round to play some doubles,
           You on one side // and me with your mother.
           Euchre, crib, tennis, golf;
           Or whatever you choose.
           The gloves are off.
"Tears and blisters" is a cockney phrase for "sisters."
Identical twins on the way.
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