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I’ve never written you a poem.
You don’t lend yourself to words, you see;
You’re too strong, an oak
To the little willow tree I am 
And I don’t know how to write a poem
For a silent, seething mountain,
A girl who could go volcano 
And fly in a fury to send vengeance 
Upon those who dare upset 
Her scattered equilibrium. 

No one writes poems for the lioness,
Headstrong and stubborn 
And already too proud
For calming words and coming into being. 
You’re the protector, the badass, the
‘I’ll drop kick you across the whole city
If you mess with my sister,’ 
Who can still be a warrior 
While wearing a dress.

I can’t be eloquent about
A lightsaber fighting spitfire,
Grumpy in the mornings
And spouting sass all afternoon. 
It’s too hard; my poems are supposed
To be soft and gentle but you
Have always been powerful,
Serious and stoic
Until suddenly you say something
To get us all laughing.

And my poetry, too, is about eloquence
But you and I don’t often talk with words,
We speak with expressions and thoughts and hands,
With random inside jokes and stories. 
That’s why I’ve never written you a poem before,
Because you’re more important to me
Than any words I know.

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I really love this? So much? And that’s why I don’t write much about my siblings ever, too, because what do you say about someone you’ve known their whole life and sum them up in a poem? But I feel like you did an awesome job. Your sister seems amazing.

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