My twin and I
are fraternal,
but our mother
compensated
by dressing us alike.
sewing and mending
our outfits or costumes
paired with opaque tights and
shiny patent leather shoes
until we grew out of it.
My twin and I
are fraternal
on the inside as well.
When she reached for a piano,
and Rhapsody in Blue
I reached for a pen,
or my keyboard
and wrote fiction.
When she reached for a novel,
or a comic book,
I reached for a film
and rewatched to the point of
memorization.
My twin and I
would stay up late and
binge episodes of
Degrassi and Daria
on summer nights
in our early teen years.
I confessed
I was in love with Trent
as we laughed deliriously.
My twin and I
split ways
in high school.
Her bright pink hair
and loud, addictive personality
contrasting deeply against
my Felicity-inspired sweaters
and desire to hide.
I wasn’t allowed to love
counterculture things
the way she did,
so I pretended.
And in our internal divide,
I never felt so alone.
My twin and I
have lived spectacularly different lives:
she’s moved
in and out of
six different states,
while I’ve stayed
in just two,
always seeming
to stay the same.
My twin and I
professionally exist
in separate realms.
She expertly roasts
the most fantastic beans
you’ll ever taste
in her coffee shop,
alone in a room
with ripped shorts and a notepad.
While I sit at a desk
in a skirt or a dress,
and occasionally
fly to meet with clients.
My twin and I
say goodbye and
hug tightly in our thirties.
her tattooed, pale skin
against my olive tone.
Sometimes she cries
a well of tears
I once cried,
because she finally understands
how it felt all those years ago.
And we are mended.
(Daily Writing 070)
Thoughts?