The Art of Blaming You

i wonder if my sister is aware she’s the reason i lost my muchness it’s like i don’t want to be loud anymore i want to be like a whisper or a gust of wind i want to be quiet and go unnoticed so bad that i tip toe and hold my breath maybe because i approached it all wrong as a kid i lost my will to live the life i never got to lead is it possible to lose your identity before it’s developed like it’s some kind of original sin? is it okay to mourn the loud, artsy, confident person that i could’ve grown up to be? and although it might not be your fault, i owe it to her to give you the guilt because one grave and one gun tell the story of a killing that went untold maybe i was right to become less maybe polka dots in ladybug patterns and pink rain boots won’t prepare me for the real world but will crop tops and make up make such a vast difference that she had to strip me from that little kid’s clothes? and maybe i did talk too much but have you thought that maybe you just listened too little? and for some reason you don’t know my worth until my lips are coated in glitter but how can i catch up when you also get older each year? if im smart and kind and funny you’re just everything that i had to miss and i understand that you’re hurting, but can’t you see im hurting too? the difference is that you tried to kill me while i tried to mourn you