This is not a piece about my older brother,
Or how our relationship has grown.
The two flimsy years,
That we have known each other,
Has been somewhat awkward.

This is not a piece about how I’m adopted,
Or about how I met him.
Through my grandmother,
Who I thought was my aunt.

This is not a piece about my baby book,
That I found while looking for construction paper.
Scott– father
Stephanie– mother.

This is not a piece about my anger.
That I have for all the lying.
That has been going on,
Or how my family isn’t really my family.

This is not a piece about how I hurt inside,
Knowing that Scott left us.
And tried to kill me,
And my mother.

This is not a piece about drugs,
The ones that Scott does just to avoid the fact,
That he can’t be a father,
To any of his 7 children.

This is not a piece about my older brother,
Or about how I’m adopted,
Or how much fury and damage I have.
Neither is this a piece about my baby book or drugs.

Rather it’s about the truth coming out,
And not being able to handle it.
It’s about siblings being closer,
When I haven’t known them for a long time,
People being so accepting,
When I was an outcast to everyone else.

This isn’t a piece about my older brother,
It’s my life story.