To my sister.
I am proud. She isn't perfect far from, but she is just right. She protected me. When I was 5 I fear that is when her inner child died. Innocence robed when I was 6. She didn't let me see her pain and anguish when I was 7. She always stayed out late when I was 8. When I was 9 she crosses a line. And then I was 10 I thought I might not see her again. I turned 11 and thanked God she didn't go to heaven. But then I turned 12 and started to notice the skeletons she kept on a shelve. 13 she was fragile like fire and gasoline. Our relationship before less obscene when I was 14. At 15 I understood why she could be so mean.
Authors note: this one is unfinished but I will finish it soon
YOU ARE READING
poetry
Poetrythis a collection of poetry I have written most of it is depressing because I use it as an outlet. enjoy
