{Poetry}: Day Eleven: Your Siblings

Oh, Brother

Two older,
both boys.
People often ask me,
if I was a princess,
a spoiled brat,
a tomboy.

None of the above.

I was and still remain
me.

(The damsel in distress
when they played cowboys and Indians.
The one patching back together furniture
when it broke when we rough-housed.
The one healing broken hearts and asking too many questions.)

I thought we would be pals together.
Now, one barely speaks to me
(and I’m left patching back together
rusty memories and past lives
we all tend to forget as we grow older.)

My imagination stayed in tact
while relationships ruptured.

The other tells me tales and weaves my imaginings together.
He asks me questions but does not always listen to the answers.
When I desire a complete family,
they are happy with fractures and breaks.

(Perhaps,
perhaps not.
We shall see what the future brings.
I know the past like the lines and webs of my hands,
but the future is a mystery to me.)

-L.G.

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