Feb 25
I am not the black sheep, so why don’t I belong?
My wool stands out amongst the heard, a speck of dirt on a
pristine
marble
dress.
I am not flicked away, but forced into another’s coat
To match the sea of white.
I am a stranger in my own body,
A mess of shredded wool and yearning
Yearning for my home
My wool stands out amongst the heard, a speck of dirt on a
pristine
marble
dress.
I am not flicked away, but forced into another’s coat
To match the sea of white.
I am a stranger in my own body,
A mess of shredded wool and yearning
Yearning for my home
“Return to home!” My soul does cry, I want to listen so. But my heart has sheep that it holds dear, refusing to let go.
