Sister, dear, with your endless chatter,
You think you’re witty, but it’s all just a flatter.
You steal my clothes and claim it’s a “share,”
But really, it’s theft—don’t act like you care.

Your room’s a disaster, a sight to behold,
With clothes on the floor, and secrets untold.
You bungle up plans, then throw me the blame,
It’s a wonder you still think this is all just a game.

You brag about cooking, but what a disgrace!
Your burnt toast and soup? It’s a culinary race!
And let’s not forget your taste in music,
It’s a crime against art, simply so bruising.

But in the end, though I tease, I jest,
You’re my sister, and with you, I’m truly blessed.
So, here’s some mean rhymes, maybe done with a grin,
We fight, we annoy, but I’ll always let you win!