9 years older than me
Born from another father
My sister
My best friend
My half-sister
She writes with ink pens
Her shirts caked with paint
Sees the world with clarity
She walks this Earth with a purpose
She breathes in art
Exhales inspiration
Her library is filled
With stories of wrong turns,
Mistakes, and catastrophes.
She paints her library with gold
She doesn’t gloss over the scary parts
But acknowledges them
With a sense of happiness
She has an almost golden, almost optimistic view
I hear sighing from far away
Up north where she stays up late
And though she may be
Miles away
I still feel her right next to me