We grew up together,
she and I,
from a very young age.
Side by side,
holding hands,
different and the same.
I am melancholy and centered
with too much love to give.
I comfort and support,
questing for meaning
in the other,
in the journey,
always to know myself.
My purpose is to companion
everyone,
As I build strength I bear
the pain that is too much for you,
until you can carry on your own,
until my last drying breath,
which I will then offer
to let you live in my stead.
The only selfish part of me,
are the burdens I quietly hide,
a pervasive wish to die,
a fear of being forever alone,
with no one to walk beside.
She is warrior, born and raised
colder,
stronger,
loner,
mature before her time.
Measuring up to the expected average
Of her over-achieving line.
But where I hold the world's
agony and pain,
she hold something darker,
as the guardian of the flame.
The fire of its rage,
and its hatred for the same.
She burns for the injustices.
She burns for the chaos and pain.
She burns for the stupidity of others,
and that cruelty always rains.
She burns with self-hatred,
that she is never good enough.
She burns with violent tendencies,
possessing the palette
for always taking it rough.
She held private burnings
to inflict intentional pain
on her fiery self.
We are not two separate sides,
to some proverbial coin.
We are split and sown together,
in the heart at which we join.
We have grown into women,
with hands intertwined,
learning how to be one person,
with such conflicting minds.
She and I.
Me and I.
