A Sister's Lament

Is it wrong to feel jealous of my brothers? Am I evil for envying their wild freedom, For wanting, just once, to go where they go, To dance to every beat, lose myself in the night? They are at every party, every celebration, Free birds, untethered, While I sit in silence, Watching them drift further from themselves. I feel sad for the girls they bring home, Beautiful souls, fleeting moments. Their laughter fills the house, But the next day, they are forgotten— Their names lost, their faces a blur. My brothers—real-life Casanovas, Their beds hold the stories of so many, Their rooms echo with whispers of lust. The back door witnesses the parade of new faces, Pretty, lean, curvy, all amazing women— Yet they are all just one-night memories. Why do they allow themselves to be discarded? Why don’t they see their worth beyond the night? I feel sad, sometimes angry, Wondering if they ever think of their sisters— Would they care if someone treated me the same? And then, a heavy truth settles in: We choose how we allow ourselves to be treated. Andrew Tate once said, How can men be faithful when others offer themselves so freely? Yes, I envy their wildness, their recklessness, But my spirit, my beliefs, Won’t let me fly so carelessly. For freedom without purpose is just another cage.