The Favorite Twin

You laugh at me when you spot me sitting in the kitchen, alone, trying to balance a Styrofoam plate on my lap And cursing that I’ve spilled some gravy on my new pants. You jokingly state that no one must like me (smile), And then turn away to go in the living room, Where everyone else is sitting. I’m weary from the invented new person I try to become just for the evening to make myself more appealing. It doesn’t work. Family gatherings make my head hurt. I pretend it doesn’t bother me, as we all watch You unwrap a cheap, funny gift they bought you – Wrapped in blue birthday paper that’s surprisingly loud, and everyone but me giggles. It wasn’t supposed to be a birthday party, But, since you were here, they brought your gift. It’s been like this forever. Rudely, they have always seemed to conveniently forget that your twin is watching, alone in the kitchen, cursing that I’ve spilled a tear on my new pants.