The Sister I Look Up To

The day she left was hell.

The woman who gave birth to us,

who was supposed to stay with us

just up and 

                   left.

I remember you held me in her bed

as we both laid there and

                                         cried.

I remember the abuse you received.

            Emotionally.

                      Verbally.

But I was too young to understand what it was doing to you.

I remember the scars that covered your body,

          the bandages wrapped around your wrists.

I don't know if you were trying to hide them,

          but I saw.

No one expected much of you.

No one believed in you.

Nevertheless, you persisted.

You graduated.

You left the toxic environment that was supposed to be home.

You made something of yourself.

The scars on your body no longer remind you of pain.

They remind you of what you have overcome.

They remind you that you have succeded,

that you have made a life for yourself all on your own.

                  And I admire that.

I admire the determination,

                    the perseverance,

                                 the motivation you exhibited.

You cared for me when no one else did.

You cared for me when no one cared for you.

I look up to you, my older sister.

I look up to you because of all you've accomplished,

                  because of everything you have managed to do.

I look up to you because I admire you

                                           not just because you're six inches taller.