A Letter to My Younger Sister


Your childhood years are the best years of your life,
but I’ve already spoiled your golden age.
Before you were born,
I sobbed at the thought of you existing.
I hated it, the sour taste in my mouth,
of the selfishness that prevented me from loving you,
touching you and holding you
before I even saw you.

I’m your blood and body, your mentor, your protector,
and I was once repulsed by you.
When your pleas for Mama stung my ears,
my hand itched to strike you, as Papa had done to me.
Your tears stirred no emotion in me and I trembled
at the haunting thought: why didn’t I love you?

I’m afraid to ruin YOU,
to stain your glowing smile with my sour frown,
and steal your innocence before you even enjoy it.
I don’t deserve you and your fervent love,
plastered over your freckled nose and dimpled smile.
I’m afraid I haven’t done enough, or anything at all,
to show you that I love you.

I do.

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