I never wanted to be like her, 
arguing against compliments likening our appearances,
listing off a dozen ways I look like him

She never thought I would be like her, 
introducing me to anyone as the apple who rolled miles from the tree,
the impossibly different fruit with bruises and bumps

I never wanted her to be like this, 
ignoring the signs and direct utterances,
this is emotional blackmail

I never wanted to be treated like this, 
fighting against her vision versus my reality, 
I lost myself and adopted shortcomings that were not mine to take

I never thought I would arrive here, 
at the crossroads of submission and self-preservation,
yearning to be understood

I still want to be hers, 
but, perhaps, on my terms, too