All my life,
I’ve been compared
measured against a mirror
that wasn’t mine to hold.
Labeled the ugly twin,
the shadow behind her light,
because I wasn’t feminine enough
not soft enough,
not delicate enough,
not the version they wanted to see.
She was the flower
petals bright,
swaying in the sun,
while I was the storm
fierce, wild,
bending but never breaking.
They called me masculine,
but never fierce.
A lesbian,
but never enough
not the “right” kind
to fit their picture perfect mold.
They whispered,
“You don’t look like her.”
“You don’t act like her.”
“You’ll never be like her.”
But I grew in the cracks,
rooted in truth,
fed by my own fierce heart.
I am not less,
I am not broken.
I am not the ugly twin
I am the twin who chose her own way,
the twin who loves without apology,
the twin who will never dim her light
to make others comfortable.
And in the end,
when the world looks close enough,
they’ll see
I am beautiful.
