Sister

Sometimes I can’t help but feel helpless.

She says she can’t act,

but,

I’ve never seen one better.

Always saying without saying,

“I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Always looking fine,

just worried about school.

Always looking fine,

but I miss the signs.

Bags under the eyes.

Just tired.

Just tired.

Not wanting to sleep.

Just homework.

Just homework.

Sad look in her eyes.

Just stressed.

Just stressed.

Disinterested.

But,

just changed her mind.

Distant.

All my fault.

Who’s fault?

“God won’t give you something you can’t handle.”

Lies.  Lies.

“There is beauty in life.”

I just see pain.

She’s just sick.

She made herself this way.

She made herself this way

for a reason.

I feel anger.

I feel the need to be

strong,

there,

present.

But,

I’m not

good enough?

What does she need?

I

feel….

it doesn’t matter.

Not me.

Her.

But,

how?

Just lost.

Just lost.

Broken.

“Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor.”

Picture perfect.

No.

Tainted.

Somewhere.

Always something off.

Hard to see.

But always there.

Like a demon on our shoulder.

Can’t enter,

but causes hell all the same.

I just want it to be okay!!

I just want to fix it!!

But how do you shake it?

“Dog days are over.”

No.

NO.

How do you say I’m here,

when you’re not really?

How do you say you’re fine,

when you know it’s a lie?

How do you tell the truth,

when it just hurts everyone?

Listen to music.

Escape reality.

Fantasize.

You head it on the head.

Dad.

Non-existent.

I needed you,

you weren’t there.

Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“I’m starting with the man in the mirror.”

Selfish.

Selfish.

Perfection.

Can’t stop until perfection.

Redo it.

Not straight.

Too slow.

Lazy.

Fat.

Bitch.

Me.

Hannah.

Not crazy.

No.

NO.

Hannah.

Not good enough.

Yes.

Yes.

Hannah.

Hurt.

Healing?

Help.

I can’t.

Trust.

I hope.

Believe.

I, in you.

Just want to make it better.

Just want you to be happy.

Yes.

Truly happy.

I drown my sadness.

You avoid yours.

I blow out my frustration

like smoke.

You absorb it.

I sweat out my loneliness.

All too busy to notice yours.

“I’m messed up, and you’re broken.”

“Those shots we fired are still smoking.”

Still smoking.

Still shooting.

Still

messed

up.

Still

broken.

Don’t suck it up.

Big girls do cry.

Black holes swallow all light.

Who’s to blame?

You.

Me.

The guy next door.

The girl upstairs.

The guy in prison.

The girl at school.

The teacher,

procrastinator,

workaholic,

controller,

busy-body,

apathetic.

Devotion to pain.

Seeing, but not changing.

No words.

Just feelings.

Just feelings.

“There will be beauty through pain.”

Deer eyes.

Cascading hair.

One, two.

Smart.

Artistic.

Three, four.

Caring.

God-loving.

Five, six.

Passionate.

Hard-working.

Seven, eight.

Looks deep.

Understanding.

Nine, ten.

Funny.

Quick.

Eleven, twelve.

Not yet impure.

Not yet hardened.

Not yet insensitive.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen.

Talented.

Down to earth.

Kind.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.

Hannah.

Nineteen.

Sometimes I can’t help but feel helpless.

Picture perfect.

No.

But,

it doesn’t exist anyway.

Doesn’t

exist.

We do.

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One thought on “Sister

  1. Very good. Makes me tear up. Praying. Hoping. Loving. PS: God does allow more in life than we can handle; not to be mean; not because He does not care; but so we realize He is there: waiting, ready, able; and to help us grow: faith, assurance, confidence, strength, love, joy, peace, patience, endurance…. Hugs!

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