My almost sister

She writes her poetry on napkins

and on the back of dirty menus.

Hums "their" song while driving

in her ugly but road worthy car

she has littered with spare journals

in case a random, profound thought

dances across the windshield ...

Love is scattered across her soul and buried

beneath the incest, abuse and hateful pain

she has carefully hidden..

Pain creeps from her pores, leaking into

the spaces between her toothy smile

and twinkling brown eyes.

Her laughter shakes the sky

and turns heads.

Last time I saw her

she fancied Wicca and Women

but now its probably changed.

This impish woman who was never my sister

but always had my heart.