GRIEF Poem: younger sister chronicles, by Dhanvi Sharma

sometimes i think my sister and i have the same blood and i wish to cut myself until i am pure, i am cleansed.

sometimes i think she is kind, and she is sweet and a mother to me when the real one wasn’t.

sometimes i wonder if it was better to never have been born, to never have the same glass- rimmed face as her.

sometimes I hate myself because i am like her, and i pray to my creator that do whatever you want, but don’t you dare make me from the same potion you did her

sometimes she spoils me like a child with sour candy and i am grateful that at least i have her.

but ultimately, I grieve her, mourn her for all that she is and for all that she was.

i am hateful and i am demonic in her eyes, and she is the life that i never wish to live in mine.

on the face of the earth, i love her.

but I’ve never liked her.