for my Sister...

She’s called “ Young warrior”.
Ready to die on the frontline to carry my burdens to victory,
but she has been carrying her own load for so long
that they have left impressions in her shoulders.
I told her ,
don’t worry about me,
cause I have seen the sand underneath her feet and
the prints she has left is crippling,
she is killing me because I can’t get through to her,
that going alone will not save you.
Picking up pencils is not your only road home,
You know you and you know that you have me.
Cradled in what we were meant,
to which can only be described as beautiful,
and that is what you are to me.
Beautiful yet bashful,
bold yet bound,
brave yet beyond the thought that love is knocking at your door.
I have been waiting there.
Standing here to tell you that even though you too have been left in the cold,
with me you will always have somewhere to call home.
I have been love’s fool before,
Wanting something didn’t understand me before
I waiting for a response to be assured that I was something , when I got nothing before.
Not even a hello to notice that I was here,
holding my breath for more time to find the one
that was always out of reach.
I see it in your eyes,
lids that have been weighed down
with the same pain that plagues me.
You drag your feet because sometimes your
heart is just too heavy
but we will be ok,
we will take our combined masses and
making both our loads a little lighter.
Picking up our feet and will march to our own beat.
We will no longer hold heart that have been
shattered by Dicks or taped back together by fragile fingers.
We shall stand tall
Holding a vigil for the yester you and yeaster me
that fell in love with the idea
that we needed to be in love to finally feel whole,
when wholeness was always in our hands,
gliding across papers,
holding our weapons of choice and
being poets.
Penning our problems on parchment,
pressed between battle wounds and healing scars.
Remembering that heartbreak held us down but our love held us together.