little brother.

it's been eleven, almost twelve years
that your name has been on my tongue
syllables dancing on taste buds'
sweet as memories,
sweet as childhood.
it's been five years that i refrain from
saying it like it's comfortable.

the thought of you
makes me uncomfortable.
you are freckling into insecurities
like a growing girl,
and shrinking into addictions
like television shows.

my imagination catches me breath,

and i never know what to say.
you are past emerging,
i often picture you swerving
into the wrong curb.


little brother,
you are moving backwards.
you are turning nocturnal.
i don't bother knocking on your door anymore
i always know what you are doing
and i know you're just sleeping,
tired because the day has been long
but you look an awful lot like you're breaking.

can't tell the difference
between the moon and the sun
between me and your mum,
you are curling into balls of body,
of little brother,
and i am a body of worry.
i told my self i'd start worrying
when insomnia kicked in.
when static screens were more important that sleep.

but you do nothing but sleep
when it is time to be alive.
brother, you are unfurling into erratic behaviors
and i can see your future
in every reaction to things
that don't go the way you planned,
and i often pray you don't believe in karma.

brother, sometimes i think
that if you just pulled back the curtains,
and turned of the television,
you could be human
could be happy,
could learn how to smile,
and how to empathize with humanity.
understand what your mother means
when she talks about africa and your picky eating
could understand that the meaning of life
isn't getting another one.

i need you to understand
that family ties will be cut,
if you never cut these habits
these images are the saddest i have ever seen.
i need you to understand
that i am holding on to you
by a thread,
brother, get out of bed
and figure out how to live,
or i'm letting go.