Pyrrhic Victory

She's 5 and keeps asking "how far?"

As mommy drives us to school in her car.

We sing the 'I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves',

and mommy goes too fast around the curves,

because we're running late,

and it's the first day of school- we can't be late!

She's going into kindergarten but I'm in second grade.

After school, she cries, and I give her my juice box of lemonade,

and she says the boys picked on her in the playground.

The next day I punch them and they make a weird screaming sound,

and the teachers pull me off and principal gets mad at me,

but no matter what he says, I'll always protect Brie.

That's what God made big sisters to do.

She's 13 and avoids food.

She's constantly in a bad mood.

She's skin and bones, but is still losing weight,

and she doesn't look so great.

She says she needs to lose a little more fat,

and I ask "who the hell told you that?"

She doesn't give me a name, but a situation:

she's been told she's ugly, and is faced with social isolation.

More questions and I still don't get a name, but I do get an address,

and so I drive and we use toilet paper and fruit loops to make a mess,

and it doesn't matter that I only have a driving permit,

as long as the girls tormenting Brie quit.

That's what God made big sisters to do.

She's 16 and dead,

a bullet in her head.

He says it was suicide,

but even if the jury didn't think so, I know he lied.

I know he broke her arm, even if she wouldn't say so,

and because of him, she stopped talking to me a year ago.

I had seen the bruises, and told her to end it,

but, somehow, defending him, she'd thrown a fit.

I wasn't around, when their fights got bigger.

I didn't see him pull that damn trigger.

I stabbed his existent heart, then watched the scarlet blood spew,

and I want to die, but it's my responsibility to remember you.

That's what God made big sisters to do.