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He Is Not Me

I am a female, he is male.

He is not me.

I am the elder, he is the younger.

He is not me.

I have control over my motor functions, he does not. He is but a babe.

He is not me.

I know of many risks of a bed, he does not.

He is not me.

I am the one getting yelled at by Papa, he is the one getting comforted.

He is not me.

My skull is developed, it is strong and tough. His is not, it is weak and fragile.

He is not me.

I am the rabbit, he is the snake.

He is not me.

He is my responsibility.

He will never be me.

I can never let that incident go.

As he grows, I will tell him of what happened.

He will hate me.

As I currently hate myself like I do every single hour of every day, night, week, month, and year. Along with my years to come.

This is my confession. I will gladly hide in the shadows while he runs in the sun. His life has just started; mine has started to spiral downwards.

He is not me, he never should be.

I should not be his role model; he should steer clear of me.

Alas, I am to be his guide in this world, to help him. I am his big sister.

He will be what he shall be and I will be stuck here, wishing to change what I am.

 I will always be me.