Some Days It Feels Like


I killed my twin sister,
but I still feel her every day
through my fingerprints
and the caverns of
the life lines in my palms.

Every now and then, I see her
in that moment between
eyes closed and open
in front of my reflection on
dark car windows or scratched mirrors.
Then softly, I hear her voice
shaking between the scars she left -
two small and two big,
across my chest.

How I will never forget my mother’s tears,
my brother’s fists,
and my father’s closed ears.
As if I killed their only daughter, our only sister -
I shake through the consequences,
the infinite “what if?”s
until I feel her smile
spread across my lips
and know.

While the possibilities of what could have been
never cease to break me open again,
at my very worst, at the very least
I am an honest son,
a loving brother,
a better