I don't understand this bond called sisterly love. Sisterly, being the adjective of love is where my heart jumps twice. See, there used to be a time when love wasn't so sisterly, and I was backstabbing with knives that would kill a sister, even if she had nine lives. Backstabbing became a systematic pattern, and I became afflicted. Afflicted from believing the love of a man would electrify my hormones, make my heart think twice before moving on, and so on, and so on...the beat goes on. Well, it did all of this and more, but I was afflicted because I underestimated Sisterly Love. I thought that I didn't need a sister, auntie, cousin, grandma, or mamma because I was gone do my own thing... This is My Life... Don't mess with my switches, my radio, my b's. I don't curse, just please keep your hands off the above please. My switches is the speed and level at which I want to continue to ride this automobile called My Life. The radio is the background music and poetry to accompany my "happiness". And with a few sips of Alize and vodka, my men, whom I pimp and play, would become my b's. Well, this ride robbed two years of my life. My switches were at their highest level til' they began to over power my will. The music wasn't so Jazzy anymore as my head collided with the tiles of a green, burgundy, and grey. The tiles,because in my jogged memory do they stay and instant replay... over and over again... What has happened to my plan, my life, my ride, my music, and my b's, that pimped and played me for my virginity and childlike mentality? Were these men forced into poverty, afflicted with a burning sensation in their masculinity, or are they somewhere livin' dead? Probably not...it's just a figment of my imagination because I forsook the love described as sisterly.