Storm

My sister was a storm, she was big and brutal, she was terrifying in many ways. When I was a kid, she never kissed me, never hugged me nor did she loved me.My sister was a balled fist drawn back waiting for you to scurry away in fear. When I wasn't listening she would draw her fist back, something I knew all too well, but one day she beat the music out of me. I was like a busted bag pipe, squeaky and limp, not a single not was right. My notes were broken and bent, my hope torn and destroyed like the treble clef I once wore with pride. My music was gone,it was no longer music, it was just noise. My sister finally left but who said you could leave me when I needed you? Who said you could break my sound and walk away? Who said I am fixed? The problem is I am still a broken instrument with bent notes and a crushed treble clef. I am just noise. 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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