I don't like Her.

“Mom I don’t like her.
I don’t like her hair
Her skin color
Her smile
Her anything.
I don’t like the way she
Breathes
Laughs
Talks
Eats
Sleeps
Walks
Talks.
She’s weird
She’s different
She’s odd
She’s loud
She’s..
She’s gay.
And I don’t like it.”
I couldn’t speak
Couldn’t move
Couldn’t fathom the possibility of my sister hating who I am.
But how can I blame her?
when I don’t like me either.
So I hold my breath and I count to ten.
One
Two
Three
It’s horrid
It’s gut wrentching
Sickening
Unmanageable
Unbearable
Four
Five
Six
I hate this
I hate them
I hate me
But couldn’t ever hate her
Seven
Eight
Nine
Breathing in and out
Without a sound
Waiting
She looks and my heart
Sinks
Ten
It’s silent
They’re glaring
She says
“See? She’s staring again.”