A Figment of Sisters

A Figment of Sisters

My sister said it wasn’t her fault. It’s true; she couldn’t help it. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t her fault.

The way I looked in the mirror. Judged the layers of myself; poked holes in the flesh. Her voice a resounding gong in my ears.

My sister said it wasn’t her fault. It’s true; I couldn’t help it. But that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t feel sorry.

The way she giggled at me. Pointed as I sagged; the weight of this body too much to bare. My tears puddles at our feet.

My sister said it wasn’t her fault. It’s true; we couldn’t help it. But this rivalry doesn’t mean we shouldn’t reconcile.

The way I crumbled that day smarted. There are bits of myself in her closet still; bloody footprints remain. Sisterhood strained under my shaky resolve.

My sister said it wasn’t her fault. It’s true; she couldn’t help it. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t her fault. That doesn’t mean I never loved her at all.

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