I remember now, why I hate my sister

It’s not because of the big things,

Although they don’t help.

It’s because of the static, unmoving rigidity

Of her will

And her ire

And her farce.


It’s because of the intensity,

And the consistency,

Of her reactions to it all,

And her complete inability

To learn from what people like

And hate

About the way she carries on.


And the way she’s talking about me,

Right now,

On the other side of the door,

Pretending she knows what’s right,

But still not thinking to share.

It’s all very well, knowing how correct you are,

When you don’t dare listen

To anybody

Or me.

It’s easy enough

When the ears that listen

Are so very eager to please.

It’s enough not to think too hard

About whether you are actually as tall as you feel.


I know I am the same,

Or at least, it makes sense for me to be.

But I can’t stop this feeling

Deserved or not

That has made its home in the pit of my stomach

In the centre of my brain

That all the smiles

And the worry

And the love

I feel for you

Are nothing more

Then that expected thing

Taught to us in schools and on TV

Of the birth given connection between household siblings.


I suppose what I mean is

I can’t stop thinking

That if it were just me

And you

With none of the expectation

We wouldn’t be friends.

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