blood sister

we bang music because two door cinema club fills the empty space
and the two years between us
better than my hollow apologies ever could

her heart hurts more than most but i wouldn't call her sensitive
not out loud anyway
because skin is for the healed
and shells are for the nervous
have you ever seen a clam, man
because casts are for the hesitating bones
because she reads what i write and likes it even if i say the "f word"

she listens even if sometimes it's only so she can top my stories with her own
of finding mom's lingerie drawer and walking in on the parents while stoned
she's a breath of fresh air but her exhalations are mass-produced in perfume bottles
she has a glass face but you have to look past the daisy dukes
the middle fingers
and listen to what she's tucking behind the laughs
the blues she pulls into bed at night
and the stars she plucks from the sky so she can save her wishes

she's a little high-strung and i think that's why sleep lies to her
and some may call them progressive because their marriage is anything but old-fashioned
but it's built on a bed of betrayal and empty pockets
her eyes are bloodshot in the morning
and their relationship is complicated on facebook

i want to tell her to love no matter how bad it hurts
but my heart should shut up and let my head do the talking
there's chalk on the wall screaming "write the poems"
but the blood and dead secrets are weighing her down
and she's too scared to pen anything more than her name

i used to yell when she used my razor
but now she knows i use hers
and she doesn't say anything
i don't know whether it's funny or sad but it's another crease in the napkin

i'm damaged goods
and our blood runs like the creek we used to play in
so she tapes each of my notes on the wall
as if to envelope her aching ashes up there
as if she can't handle all these hearts on her sleeve
and she's cutting them with butter knives one by one

she's taller than me
and her fingers are longer than mine
her fingers are thinner
her arms are thinner
her legs are thinner
she wears a size smaller than me
and i used to resent her for that
because ed told me i should hate everyone with whom i compared myself
and turned out the loser
because i was never supposed to be the fat girl

i used to hate her because she scored clothes with mom
because mom said "you shouldn't have thrown your clothes away"
it doesn't matter they didn't fit me anymore
it didn't matter i was trying to drown twins inside of me
it didn't matter ana and mia were only nicknames
and my old clothes reminded me of the girl in old photographs
who always tricks me into thinking i was happier then

sydney didn't like when she went to girls' camp
and the bitches would rather fit three in a bed than share with her
she didn't like it when there was a picture of her on snapchat
with the caption "slut"
even though she's kissed two boys

but she laughed it off
she laughed it off
she laughed it off

i bet those kids didn't know that she attempted suicide in grade seven

it doesn't matter she can wear bikinis and i can't
it doesn't matter mom likes her hair better
lets her wear shorter shorts
or buys her skimpier underwear
because none of those have to interfere with my loving her
or our coffee runs
cafe rio rendevous
barnes and noble dinners
facebook research
salt lake day trips
kissing lessons
4:20 screenshots
and our matching tattoos we're getting someday just for the hell of it

because it's okay for her to be herself
it's okay to wear a Vans logo shell if that's what it takes her to absorb the aftershock
turtles always took out the rabbits in the race anyway