me and my sister never really got along. but we were civil enough until something happened that just fucked with my head a little too much. she didn’t ask me to be a bridesmaid at her wedding. and i was just really fucking hoping that she would use it as an opportunity to repair our relationship, because i had been working on myself a lot, and i had tried to be a better sister, but no. i can’t forgive her. since then, we basically haven’t spoken at all. it was really getting to me last night, and i cut a bit, but i also wrote a really angry poem about it. i don’t really know what to call it yet. some mix-up of the typical sayings about sisters. like instead of “sisters are flowers from the same garden” maybe like “two weeds from different plots” or something, i dunno. anyway, yay, a poem. i also intend to perform this one so if i can figure out how to upload a recording you might actually get to hear me read my poetry… but only if you don’t judge my bogan west aussie accent.
it was supposed to be the done thing
the sisterly thing
the siblings walking side by side sort of thing
the playing princesses in old bridesmaid’s dresses
acting like we actually got along sort of thing.
i had already picked a perfect gown
the burnt orange one
the one the colour of rust spots
or our collection of stolen ochre rocks.
C the synesthete had always said
my voice was rust coloured
so for once the inside of my head
would pair well with how i acted instead.
everything i know i learned from books
but books could never teach me
how to be a good sister,
they taught me only stigma.
they taught me to be ashamed of myself
so when you repeated the words
on that glossy white cover
the dangerous strokes of scarlet
warning of the lies
that would soon smother
my story into a smaller size
when you told me that it sounded just like me
and then i fucking evaporated
you never could quite connect the dots.
you never could quite remember things
the way that i could, the way that you should.
well K, i have a long fucking memory
and here are some of the things i remember.
after i got that detention
you mocked me for my bravery
without daring to ask
why i had needed saving
after you saw my scars
you stopped speaking to me
as if my shameful past
stopped our future trajectory
after buying a house in which
to start your family
you neglected to tell me
probably because you thought
i would be a shitty aunty.
well here’s the final touch
the cherry on top
that will seal away our sisterhood:
i will never remember your wedding.
and that’s probably because