Just another of those "I found this stuff in my old journal" things...
How I wish that you were my brother; that we were raised up in the same home. That way, I can hug you and kiss you…no one would ever bother anyway.
How I wish that you were my brother; and that each day you’ll take me home. We can sleep together and your loving hand will caress me when I feel blue…no one would ever bother anyway.
How I wish that you were my brother; that I have known you long ago. I would have known everything about you, I can be with you everyday, and even know each girl that pass you way... no one would ever bother anyway.
How I wish that you were my brother; that I’m your little sister whom you care for. And I can hold your hand or hold on to your arm as we walk along the way…no one would ever bother anyway.
If you were my brother, I can kiss you, but too long—you would wonder; I can hug you, but not too tight—you’d want to go; and yes, I can cry on your shoulder and you’d comfort me to ease the pain then suddenly pass me to mommy and tell me that she, more than anyone can understand my sorrow (truth is, you just don’t want me to ruin your attire for a date).
If you were my brother, and we’re raised up in the same home, and I’ve known you since we’re little kids then, I will miss the feeling of being lifted in the air with every little thing that I discover about you. Though I can hold your hand, one day you’ll pull it off to hold another girl. If we’ve been together since I was born then one day, you’ll leave our home to build your own with another girl.
I you were my brother, and we’re raised up in the same home, we’d be of one flesh and one blood; then, what I’m feeling now would all be wrong.
“GLAD THAT I’M A STRANGER!”
/April 22, 2000
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