A Book I'm Going to Write

Sister

My little sister has grown used to me leaving and returning.
Has watched me walk in and out the door.
Has seen me use the door mat, be the door mat.
She looks to me for guidance, to teach her how the sun sets and rises, but how am I supposed to do that when my eyes are so blinded by tears that I can't even see the sun anymore.
How am I supposed to teach her to stand strong, fists held in the air, when I am locked in his fist, squeezed, and demeaned, and weak, and desperate.
How do I remind her to love herself when she has witnesses every gruesome detail of my own self torture.
How do I show her where to go when every time I get in my car its to pathetically return to his waiting, outstretched, mocking arms. The same arms that will, minutes later, break my ribs and push me backward. The same arms that will then keep me at a emotion-numbing distance.
And how do I guide her, help her, inspire her, when she looks at me and says,"Don't do it anymore, this isn't what you want, you deserve better."
And she shakes her head at me, pity in her eyes, because she has learned on her own.
Or perhaps I have taught her what not to do.
But that is not enough, that is not how I want her to remember me: the girl that continued going back, the girl that had no will power, the girl that had no self respect.
I will teach her how the sun sets and rises- how it comes from yourself each and every day.
First, I must take my own advice.