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Trixie and Blixie were identical twins.
Darling little girls.
Hazel eyes. 
Big puffy shoulders.
Magical pearl-laden dresses, made by their mother, who was a wonderful seamstress.
People on the street would stop her.
“They are so cute!” they would say.
“Do they speak?” 
“Are they exactly alike?”
This banter delighted Blixie.
Almost as much as it pissed Trixie off, especially in the preteen years.
I have a voice, Trixie would think loudly. I CAN TALK, YOU IDIOT!
Her mind would shout.
Being half of an identical twin duo meant Trixie 
Was allowed to have a voice, which she never used,
Because she would have been severely punished,
Because Rock Twin’s mother was smart enough to
Know how honest she was willing to be.
But Trixie and Blixie never had a NAME.
Which did not seem to concern Blixie in the least; she actually thrived on that.
“Oh, here are the Rock Twins!” 
“They are so cute!”
“They are exactly alike!”
“Can you tell them apart?”

Blixie loved this twin crap.
She wanted to wear the sanctimonious twin dresses to school every damned day.
Trixie wanted to burn them.
Trixie would get dressed in purple flower, 
Twirl around Blixie, so she would know
What to wear,
Then two seconds before they had
To leave the house, Trixie would run 
In the back door and put on pink
Lollipop dress, knowing Rock Twin Mom would
Never let Blixie back inside to change
Because then they would be late to school.
And that never happened at their house.
Since the age of 3 months, Trixie really really really really wanted 
An identity.
Some sort of acknowledgement that she was an individual, not a pair.
And to this day, Blixie wants to be a Rock Twin.
So if you are the one saying “Oh, here come the Rock Twins,”
Or “Hey, Rock Twins, want a ride?”
Please don’t. And if you think identical twins are just alike, I just wasted time on this stupid poem.
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