you make a whirlwind of off-white predictions,
and i like that about you,
with the way you can defy tsunamis;
conformity has never been a part of your nature,
but you have a certain heaviness,
as though you have seen too many wildfires to
still love the wind because you know its power –
as though landslides have thrown too many
rocks into
the crooks of your shoulders and you are
constantly burdened by the weight of expectation;
i’m sorry sometimes you are shrouded in
storm clouds, and
thunder screams, “why aren’t you more like
your sister?
why aren’t you more like your sister?
why – aren’t – you – your – sister – ?”
you swear you cannot move mountains as
expected, but
i’ve seen you do so before, without watching eyes.

you’ve convinced yourself i’m something akin
to a star,
but i promise you are something much brighter:
you are the sun,
and i have no doubt you will still burn
with the light of a thousand galaxies
even once i have long since been extinguished.