At some point I became a ghost
In my own house,
Just a shadow dancing past closed doors,
hurt feelings swelling under old scars,
like a bursting seem, holding back broken dreams.
Picking the wounds off and leaving
The skeletons in the closet
Where they belong.
I would love to feel, but it’s been too long.
Old friends fall in the backdrop silently
Somehow they have become the walls.
You’re the only one who not hiding
The only friend to reach out and feel me.
The only thing encouraging breathing,
I guess most people don’t speak to ghosts
I guess most people don't see me.

we were sisters, weren't we?
i remember when we were young -
everything was easy then, wasn't it?
before your beauty bloomed and
my plainness stayed,
before the curve of your hips and the sparks of your smile,
set my mother's heart on fire.

we were sisters, weren't we?
when we used to kneel by the hearth for fun,
digging up buried treasure,
sifting through the ashes with our clean-girl hearts,
laughing.

that was before the bitterness choked our home.

we were sisters, weren't we?
you used to crawl under the covers with me,
whisper ghost stories and laugh at me when i got scared.
i reflected your prettiness then,
it shone on me like
the sun on a mirror,
my glass face unmemorable and making yours
all the more dazzling
(not that we knew it:
we were both beautiful,
before we knew any better)

we were sisters, weren't we?
i held your hand when my mother cut you with her words,
i stood up for you when she worked you, i did.
i never once raised a word when you would come to my room,
crying and
raving about her.
i held you when your missing for your own mother rose up sharp in your heart, and i
defended you when my mother spread words like thorns in the villages.

i never once envied you your beauty.

we were sisters, weren't we?
and when that prince came for you,
laughing and
pebbling our window with stones,
i helped you shimmy out into his arms.
i would clean the mud off your shoes when you would stumble back in,
right before the sun came up,
i would put you to bed and make you tea to warm the early-morning chill out of your rose-pink cheeks,
and i waited for you that night you didn't come back.

we were sisters, weren't we?

and you left us.

Sometimes...

I crawl into myself
not out of fear
but because I am comfortable there
wrapped in my own thoughts.

I isolate myself
from the empty eyes,
the withered shells of
people.

I observe and listen.
the negativity
the complaining
the slow attrition
the selfishness
the dying

Sometimes,
I take my place
in the complaint line
to die a little.