posted on Oct, 3 2012 @ 04:08 PM
It was supposed to be a big secret that you ever lived.
I know it's not my choice to say so, but I wish you were alive and here with me.
You could have been the eldest.
You could have taught me so many things.
I feel I've felt your spirit,
Long before they confirmed your existence.
I know they only admitted their crime (and then it was a crime)
Because I disappointed our father,
And maybe he wished that I had died,
And you had lived.
You, my brother
Who is a whisper on the wind
Of my existence.
A girl of 16,
Scrapped out from the inside on a kitchen table.
The dirty secrets of heterosexuality.
He would have done the same again, but our mother put her foot down.
So my brother, I hear you in the wind.
I always knew you were there.
You were alive, you were a perfect infant child.
How could they kill you like that?
You had fingers and legs and a brain.
Where is your body?
I suppose you don't have a grave.
I know that you would have been straight, and the perfect son.
And maybe every-time they see my imperfection they see you.
You should have lived like me,
And I should have died like you.
I believe in a woman's right to choose,
And I'm not here to judge.
However, I also think choice comes from all kinds of information.
Perhaps if I share some of my experience here it could influence "choice".
I'd love to see my eldest brother alive.
Not a day passes where I don't think of the possibility.
And why did he die?
Money or scandal are all long resolved.
He could be with me now.