I like making you smile.
I like making you proud.
Maybe sometime,
your eyes will shine
as bright
at me
as they did
when she finally
learned to
spell 'cat'.
How do you
have so many awards?
Do I have to get
as many
as I get older?
Do I have to get more?
What happens
if I don't?
It sometimes hurts
when you hug her
a lot more
than you hug me.
I reassure myself,
of course,
knowing once upon a time,
you must've hugged me
like that,
though I don't remember.
Why do you compare
her to me
as if we're the same person?
As if
you expect me
to be a younger
her?
As if
I'm not enough?
Ever since
she came along,
I've been older,
always older,
even though
now
she's the same age
as I was then,
but she'll
forever be
younger.
How are there
so many more
memories of her,
so many
that don't include me?
Why do they
make everyone smile
like it
was better
when I wasn't
there?
I'm always working hard
to be this
level
and to prove something
I don't know
and it gets nothing more
than
a few seconds
of you.
But her drawing,
it goes on the fridge,
and is granted a smile
every time
you walk by.
Why are
my choices
so belittled?
Why is my opinion
casted behind?
Why am I
always
annoying?
When fighting,
you never
ask
for the details.
I'm responsible
no matter
whatever.
Why do you
never see
how what she says
hurts
me?
Why is it
my
understanding
you always
ask for?
Why can't you
try
her?
It's not a matter between us
like
you think.
We love each other.
We're each other's best friend.
I could never hate her,
just like
we could never hate
you.
Don't you see
we just
want you
to smile
at both of us?
I try to. I really do.
YOU ARE READING
Feathers: A Book of Poetry
PoetryA pencil is the spotlight of a soul. It tells them its okay to overflow. It tells them ideas are art, and that the best ones are masterpieces. Feathers is a collection of poetry by me to convey the beauty and undeniable strife of the world, and emot...
