"disowned" poems
You will never know
The peace of acceptance
Once you are finished
Put to earth
Life was harsher than the dirt
Parents made you feel worthless
Cause you wanted to wear a short dress
Because you felt different
Cut off
Disowned
Disavowed
One friend after another disappears
And no one hears
The sobs
No one feels the salty tears
No one holds your hands
Or offers you a hug
You were ******
By the those who demand
You conform
Where there was no warmth
The clock cuts you bitterly
Condemning you to be lonely
And I cry all the more
Knowing you won’t be the only one
Not the only daughter wanting to be a son
Not the only male that wants to be female
Not the only soft face harden
Or hard face softened till the sorrow overflows
Till everyone you know closes the door
And you disappear forever more
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
it is my birthday.
but the world has long disowned me.
honestly--I ask--why do I bother?
as there must be something there for me--out in the viscera.
for I, am still here.
it is my birthday.
but the public has long shunned me.
faces thick as bedrock and eyes as dull as mint wrappers.
and they use sound to blind them.
it is my birthday.
and no one seems to help.
for it is not always happy to know,
you're one day closer into the arms of the cease-r.
it is my birthday.
and words rule no meaning.
for no one listens to me.
and no one hears what I'm hearing.
it is my birthday.
and my marrow weakens as I breath.
but bones sleep with welded lips 'neath the coat of earth.
and--with shame--I shall, too, be nothing but empty research.
it is my birthday.
and I force myself to nature.
O sand, is it true they pick you up and throw you in the wind?
O sea, is it true you get stuck in the mouths and stomachs of the young?
O hair, is it true you scream when the air beats you?
but I don't hear--and I know many.
it is my birthday.
and I breath false air.
is it true the ones that speak ill are on their death bed?
is it wrong I wish for them to speed up time?
is it wrong I point the reaper in their direction?
so I needn't worry of their illness spreading to mine.
it is my birthday.
and we are all gathered for tea.
the masochists sit by the sadists; that's the rule,
so the sadist may draw that ball-point pen deep along their slate skin--and whisper the names of forgotten authors,
so they may both moan with delicious harmony together--for two presents in one.
it is my birthday.
and the masochists ask me to join.
they write each other's eulogies
and revise--revise--'til there are none.
it is my birthday.
for now you know not,
of what I wish, but what I need,
a master.
for I am not one.
it is my birthday.
and not all wishes deem true,
for it seems no one cares of my words--my work--my blood--my tears--
a hymn to whomever it may concern--have you no mercy?
it is my birthday.
and I have not found them.
I have not found the right.
for only airless voices with no mouths, eyes that wish for many more, and souls that have lost time have found me.
and I am one of them.
and 'neath my heart,
I always will be.
for it is my birthday,
and wishes don't come true.
Jun 19, 2016
Jun 19, 2016 at 6:57 PM UTC
We were poets,
Once,
Hearts etched upon our sleeve
The lords of our intent,
Words bloomed for all to see.
Each branch of thought considered,
Chiseled,
Whittled to express.
Carving the forest in our likeness
We paved the landscape with our breath.
Woods would sway in idle days
Sunkissed glades lay bathed in gold.
Nights waylaid by dancing maids
Cheap ale and tales of old.
Fires burn, flames unfold.
Though
Embers remember
Tender clutch of the cold.
We tend to forget the bargained,
The sold.
Up rivers and creeks,
Paddles, disowned by the meek,
Cast away to distant shores.
Glades decay,
Fade to grey.
We become poets once more.
Apr 13, 2017
Apr 13, 2017 at 4:01 AM UTC
Her lover was faithful
But it was not kind.
It took all of her dreams,
And left them behind.
Now she's withering,
Like a dying flower.
The addictive white dust,
Stealing her by the hour.
Her family disowned her ,
Her house reposessed.
But her white dusty lover,
Oh, it loved her the best.
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:40 PM UTC
Long nights, dreaming
He's beside you gently sleeping, away..
And when you wake up,
as the Sun comes,
You whisper 'I love you' to your one love, everyday
But just because you're also a man, doesn't mean you can't love another
And though you're safe and sound someone else has been disowned by their mother and it's not a nice town when you're getting beat up by one another, for loving who you love
But this life is good,
And his eyes are kind..
And your heart is big enough
To forgive those who had the nerve to leave you behind
And your words are so pure
You've never meant anything more..
And even when you're getting called a bunch of names,
It doesn't make you any less beautiful
And just like how the sky is blue,
This bond is strong..
And this love is love.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 2:08 PM UTC
Smoking weeds,
drinking hard liquors.
Party all night,
til day light.
Things that are new to me,
things who understand me.
When i'm feeling down,
when no one is around.
Gat Jose Rizal said
"kabataan, pag-asa ng bayan."
But society never guide me,
they don't understand me,
instead, they disowned me.
Now, people of this society,
who are you to judge me?
I beg you to please guide me,
because ignorance hit me.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 3:02 AM UTC
Miscommunication
serendipity, anticipation,
blurred reality -
lost in the dialect
of a dream,
in pursuit
of Love
find callous irony;
subversion of desire
what's it all about?
to know and be known.
Mere seconds
of scrutiny
inferior,
I am shown.
Her appraisal
eviscerating
my warm flesh,
her tilted criteria
supplanting the interior,
voluble with
saccharine neologisms
and preferences
for the exterior.
(not mine)
Ironic was my
attraction to
her brain.
Lines, features
and symmetry,
image - the commodity,
aesthetics, the
currency
in this transaction,
cursory liaison,
incendiary,
collapse of the
insurgent ego -
there was no
us in the
the affair of
nothingness.
Bruised in
abasement,
I'm not the one -
I thought I was.
Hyperbole -
the center
of delusion,
a curious
diversion -
avoid my life.
The allure of
the illusion,
transference,
the ordinary to
the romantic,
the perfect other.
Searching, the
absorbing project -
aquiring wholeness,
did she reject me?
I rejected me.
The escape into
fraudulent
sadness,
to mourn,
is to displace,
the disowned heart
by self is tragic.
Should
I not mourn for
the one I'm
deferring?
Inside of me
It's safe,
to lament
the loss of
identity -
tension is agony
without resolve
sequestered,
in my pain,
self-imposed
familiar terrain,
upon retrieval,
awaking in
renewal,
mystery and destiny
providentially,
I am free.
Feb 14, 2012
Feb 14, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Can anyone tell me why I let myself live in this?
Am I stuck in a room with no windows or doors?
I used to bang on the walls with bruises on fists
over tattooed wrists and faded scars
that led to a hole in my chest
that I filled with love for myself.
“Love for myself”:
You probably think that sounds conceited,
right?
But in all truth, it is the bitter opposite.
I didn’t need any of you to save me.
I figured it out on my own,
like I always do.
The fight in my gut emerged beyond skin,
but I was never good enough here.
I will never be good enough here.
I spend my weeks on a seesaw
between the highest praise and the lowest blows.
Every word that takes off from my lips
must turn and tumble in flight before reaching your ears.
You hear me. You don’t listen.
You twist me. You don’t illuminate.
No, I am not like a daughter to you,
and if you were my mother,
I would have disowned you long ago.
In fact, you really don’t know **** about me,
because I don’t want you to.
Too many people try to tell me how to live,
as though I haven’t come to learn what is best for myself.
I think,
as someone who used to fantasize about her own death
but has overcome that obstacle
and must continue to work to keep that fight alive in herself
every
****
minute
of her existence,
I have the right to write you off as an imbecile to my life.
You don’t own me.
You don’t know me.
You don’t even see me.
I ripped away the heart sewn tightly to my sleeve a while ago
and placed it in a treasure chest
kept in a safe haven to which few hold the key.
I hold the key.
But I don’t go there often.
You see, I never really get the chance.
I just want the chance,
just a little bit of time
to hear the quiet hum of a life reformed,
to stop and feel the breath in my chest,
to feel each lung fill to the brim,
and picture it nourishing every inch of my body
as I press the “release” button.
Can I press the “release” button?
Can I close my eyes and be…
just be, not do.
Can I whisper my desires to the wind that moves around me?
Can we tell secrets of our confusion,
our struggles,
our victories?
Can I reside to the treasure chest,
simply to fill back up?
“E” is for empty.
I was designed differently than you.
I wasn’t made for this.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC
Feels like slavery
With weight our shoulders
Havent We endured enough?
From One Bolder To The Next?
Like needles draining our blood for energy
The White Gold of Saturn
Using Led from congress
Our Spring Streams Have Run Dried
Directed into a Different lines and Process
Guarded by Projects With Capitalism at its finest
Racism and favoritism.
The Collective Body Shivers .
With stretch lines on her skin with her magnitude of her tears.
The stages of legions unleashed.
Souls in battle using a leash.
Things have been disowned and blown.
The Headdress will take its throne.
The Shield Into El-dorado that is known.
Grids awaken from the Amerindian parts of the jaguars tradition.
Collective religious cultures unleashed from its disposition.
The beauty that brings a new position.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 7:10 PM UTC
Broke the straw across her back,
so she snapped, never turning back
Bruised her arm by joking accident
with all the malice of death’s intent.
No natural love or paternal instinct
to catch
the tears she’s choked
with your hands on her throat.
Touch her again and the demons will get you
tell her to end herself before you do;
and the death you deserve will befall you
slow, alone and barren.
Better to have left long ago or
confronted your own lineage-issued father and
let yourself be disowned
than be the ******* you are.
Leave her be
middle child,
second accident
of the disappointing gender.
How dare you lay a finger on an innocent child?
You’ll never be absolved in anyone’s eyes.
Raised by fools, you’ve ruined your gift.
The daughter you never wanted
may never say it,
but will grow up to spite you.
Suffer like she does.
She’s been soaking it up now
for a while
but the blood flow continues
from deep wells of wounds.
She can’t take this load anymore
the people she carries
don’t love her and she’s
parched but still going.
Surviving on a lump in her throat
as she’s dragged through sandstorms and beatings.
Feb 22, 2012
Feb 22, 2012 at 5:31 PM UTC
I disowned my baby with my very own hands,
why blame others for not loving it as I did once ?
I don't have any memories of it in pictures or letters,
just in my head and heart,
why blame others for not capturing or keeping one remembrance.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 3:39 AM UTC
There’s a sense of something really good this Christmas,
There’s a feeling in the air that it’s OK
The anticipation’s there about ….a happiness out there
And the weather outlook’s brilliant for the day.
Mother’s planning a big roast for Christmas dinner
There’ll be sparkles and bright spangles on the tree,
Underneath there’s quite a pile, gaily wrapped to bring a smile
And a kiss beneath the mistletoe for me?
Spare a thought for all poor souls who have nobody
Gift-wrap a parcel or two for the disowned,
To make some unknown person smile advances Christmas by a mile
And really brightens up the prospects for the un-homed.
It’s a day to gift good wishes to your loved ones
Share some cold beers in the sunshine on the deck,
And when we’ve eaten to excess and helped mum clean up the mess
There will be time to take a snooze…and what the heck!
So to all our friends, across this world, aplenty,
May we take this opportunity to say
We hope your Christmas be as good as we know it really should
And may Santa gift you happiness ….to stay!
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Love from Janet and Marshal.
“Foxglove”
Taranaki, New Zealand.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 6:33 PM UTC
There is a cat in my home, and slowly it has grown fatter from feasting on food that I own.
I go to work every day, so theres no possible way that this cat could look for pray.
Yet still, somehow, when I return, he's stuffed.
Belly filled with pizza crust he looks as if he'll bust.
Somehow he finds a way outside, where he roams to neighbors homes to fill up on old turkey bones.
Second breakfast and for lunch this hungry cat would munch, till diner came, then the game would change and just like that this cat would be back.
In the morning when I leave, this cat would beg that I come home with fishes. The begging grew bad, so I'de do exactly as she wishes. Heres the trouble: I feed her once, shes still hungry, so i feed her double. Hours of her mighty meow. Her, just sitting there constantly, bellowing just like a cow, until I provide her with her chow. Now, I tried feeding her less and getting her to run but Im just competing with my stress when that cats not having fun. She would sit and moan, Oh the noises she'd groan as Ide remove her from the cushion she had claimed as her thrown.
After this cat had Disowned me, I had learned just like that, that infact it was actualy the cat who had owned me. See cats are a beast of nature, there a creature that can not be tampered. So when theyve been pampered and foods been delivered, you can bet a strong bet that this cat will expect to be treated with the best packaged liver from a duck that Wal-Mart can deliver.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 11:53 AM UTC
once,
there was a prince.
a prince with fairy blue hair.
he loved fairies with all his heart,
he believed they existed too.
he met a fairy,
a pretty one,
with pink hair and
pretty brown eyes.
their cheeks were rosy.
the prince thought, i think i found my love.
it wasn’t until,
he realized,
that the fairy he loved,
was a boy too.
it didn’t matter to him.
but when mother
and father found out.
they kicked the prince out.
the prince frowned,
sitting on the grass,
all alone in the cold night.
he had nowhere to go.
his family had disowned him,
for loving a a fairy.
he was confused.
why did mother and father
kick me out,
for loving a fairy boy?
was I not supposed to?
the prince wiped his eyes in frustration,
his vision was glossy.
he was sad and very cold.
he laid on the grass,
on his side,
in the woods.
with only a little bag of his belongings.
with no money or food.
“prince?” the prince looked up with teary eyes
and saw,
fairy boy.
he cried out and held him.
fairy boy was confused now.
why was the one he loved crying?
“prince? what is wrong
my love?” fairy boy said.
“i’ve got no home to go to.”
prince said.
“that’s wrong my prince.”
fairy boy said.
“for as i, have our,
home waiting for you.”
“take me home fairy.”
prince held his hand.
“anything for you,
joey.”
Oct 29, 2017
Oct 29, 2017 at 3:08 PM UTC
*kiss the kids good bye,
send them out on
their own find-a-way paths,
merry or otherwise,
dispatched, once and forever,
stamped, franked, posted,
Gebbie delivered,^
the poems born, borne*
are gone
*never look back,
once writ and gifted,
they are an only child,
not truly orphaned*
but without parentage
*miss'ed every now and then,
see them as a drive-by victims,
hit and run casualties of passing poets,
who notifiy that they saw
"so and so"
and just wanted to
let me know,*
they're ok
*but never look back,
they have been disowned,
each,
a natural birth poem,
must learn
the hard way,
to stand on its own,
tested by the cruelest proctor,*
hoary time
*this is the way,
the only way,
birth mother and no more,
and this why,
some know me as,
the poet of the way...
*this is my way -
my poems are my
dispatched issue,
sent out themselves alone,
to experience
cell division,
mitosis and meiosis
spawning new poetic tissue,
find their own way of sharing*
their ancestral DNA
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:57 PM UTC
I don't recall the moment responsibility grew arms hugging
with gnarled fingers, while burdened skies wrap like a promise,
with its soft tenor of lies and seduction.
Disowned, I remember the drunk old lady who hung
over my shoulders puking responsibility, as if to discharge
toxic waste on a pre-mature baby struggling in labor, while death
chokes the innocent, lost in love's knowledge.
She could have warned me, even better, ridiculed me rather
than put my head on a bludgeoned block allowing me to become
a scapegoat for all the past, present and future mistakes:
Some, of which was manufactured in threads of innuendo
by off-loaders.
These bones of mine are exposed in the twilight of their naked
prejudice, and 'I swear I could hear clouds' curse my name, chanting
wrath, creating chaos through veins of pride, before darkness
fell feasting off my flames.
There is nothing like hollow skeletons of the dead rustling
around in graveyards alone. I stopped to think despite efforts
of going solo; how I miss the stony silence of that skull, bent
with anger seeking solace from my venomous touch.
It would be a blessing to retreat into silent reveries
where I am alone, I am alive, the dead are no more, to wrestle
ghosts with words spoken into the heavens asking,
"is there enough forgiveness left for me?"
I don't want to remember her dead face, how it looked
when her neck snapped while life drained from her stiffened eyes.
I want the abstracts of my life to fit.
So, I howl upon her bitter pill - release me...
7/11/2012
Nov 6, 2012
Nov 6, 2012 at 3:46 PM UTC
Applied rouge on the cheeks
Tied a glittering necklace round the neck
Putting heavy makeup,
Over the stubble on her shaven chin,
She looked into the mirror
Through its cracks, saw a million bits of her/him
Those images sneering at each other
She felt trapped in a wrong body,
With its contours n’ longings mismatched
“Where do I belong”?
“Where do I fit”?
These questions plague her incessant
A rough stone with sharp edges
Too hard to be chipped down
Cast aside by the mason
That can never go into the making of a Cathedral
She walks around in haze
Life seems a twisted maze
Each time she tries to claw her way
She sees only walls that hems her in
Before her lingers the stygian mist
Phantoms of darkness surround her
The winds of change swiftly blow
Seasons come and go
But she is tied down in her chains
An anomaly of creation
A curse and a taboo
Swallowing stigma and abuse
Each day waking up with a start
Knowing that she is neither a woman nor a man
But a non binary... an accursed TRANSGENDER
Inviting snide looks
And sniggers from onlookers
People call her a ******
One divided between the selves
A hapless denizen of an inhospitable world
Disowned even by parents
Though flawed and far from perfect
She is human, one of a kind
And needs to be seen through the eyes of God!
Dec 1, 2018
Dec 1, 2018 at 9:03 AM UTC
I saw the saddest scene today,
when a boy— now a year older—
abandoned his bicycle because she was older.
Enticed by lust, on his new bike he rode away,
caught up in the moment—he didn’t mean to scold her—
yet no second was spared to look back over his shoulder.
I stopped watering my lawn, eyes where the bike lay,
imagining the loneliness felt when he disowned her,
and I felt emptier than a bike’s seat with no owner.
Even inside my home, on my conscience it weighed
because of their tryst, there was another knower.
“He took her for a ride, and he didn’t even know her.”
In my mind I console her, such idle words I say,
for nobody’s pedaling foot would ever suit her
until that pettler’s foot stopped blocking the suture.
“I was like you recently, so for you I pray,
though, the absence was open and lacked closure;
hopefully, your steel frame employs better composure.
“Nostalgia will make him pine for his yesterday,
pictures’ll frame the story of love lost when he’s older.
In time, loving hands will lift you up,” I told her.
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 2:43 PM UTC
Now for years I haven’t seen him
nor know if he is alive or dead
the shadowy man who floated like dream
each moonlight on the roof surfaced!
When from my window his silhouette I caught
saw him on his voyage embark
the moon stalker day’s small-time clerk
wove a magic spell on my thought!
As the moon came over the eastern edge
silver orbed in her glorious rebirth
he would be there lost in his gaze
like a moonman stuck on the earth!
Madly his eyes riveted on the sky
in pursuit of gain unknown
as if once unmoored to her he would fly
leaving this world disowned!
Hours passed by his wonder not ebbed
eased not the moon stalker's trance
it seemed to me moon's waning he grieved
mourned dimming of her silvery dance!
Each full moon saw this unfailing zeal
on the roof two lovers' meet
his eyes sky bound till he had his fill
the moonman on earthly transit!
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
I read the book of Samuel
I read the story of the Israelites
Of how they rejected God
“We want a king!” they demanded
“We want to be like other nations”
Rejecting God’s kingship.
The same God who brought them up
Out of the ******* of Pharaoh
Out of slavery in Egypt
The same God who gave them victories
Over many nations and wars
The same God who had fed them
For forty years in the wilderness
Same God who had proved
Beyond reasonable doubt
That He is the King of kings
A Lord above all lords
They chose to downgrade!
I was swept away in a mind journey
As I thought of how it must have felt
To be rejected by your own children
Repudiated by your beloved
Disowned by the very people you love.
My heart bled!
The heartbreak was unimaginable
The pain was excruciating
As my mind pointed fingers of accusation
I couldn’t find befitting words
*“Foolish Israelites!”
“Unrepentant idiots!”
“Stubborn generation!”*
And as my mind went awry
Heaping insults on God’s people
Raining accusations on them
Judging an imperfect people as myself…
His still small voice whispered
***“You are all the same”
“You have done worse”***
Then it struck me
Like a lightening of a million volts
I am the Israelites
I am the very people of God
I am the same ones I condemn
I have betrayed God repeatedly
I have chosen sin above my maker
My iniquities know no bounds
I have trivialized His blood
I have made a mess of the cross.
*I am the “foolish Israelites!”
I am the “unrepentant idiots!”
I am the “stubborn generation!”*
My heart melted into tears
Shame covered me like a cloud
My head was bowed in ignominy.
Unable to speak or move
I lay there, weeping at my wickedness
No words were spoken
But I felt His arms embrace me
In acknowledgement of my repentance
I never deserved it
But He loved me nonetheless.
I pointed one finger at them
But three pointed back at me!
© Raphael Uzor
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
Tiny droplets on my window
As I look out gazing,
at the stars who light you.
(Droplets.)
Then I've forgotten,
how the sun and moon never share
the sky.
When all is cloistered
by the infinite walls each builds
Only to move forward
with wheels so round.
So I ponder.
From whence do you come from?
Others say
the rain.
From a God so dry,
to drench so sharply
a people
who refuse to even
be chilled.
But have I refused to be mild?
Others speak,
or even laugh about you
being from a wooden cask.
So simplistic a material
born of nature's *****
raised by human hands
killed by a shoe's trample.
Only to be revived
by repetitive thirst.
But have I abandoned value?
A small voice
goes so far to whisper
that you are but
a leaf's residue.
Relegated as lifeless,
you, so clear, have given life
to the colors of autumn.
And rekindled by
the same time
that disowned you.
But have I been disloyal?
Though now as I lie
staring at the snow
a crystal sparkles.
Something
from my own eye
my own bliss
my own sorrow
my own consolation
my own mortality.
Abandoned when I must go.
Or have I refused to be constant?
Notwithstanding your origin,
I touch you,
you will never be the same.
But will I?
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 4:54 PM UTC
to the women of my life. Im ashamed to say I've done some things that never should have done. leaving you stranded at the first sign of trouble. not being there when needed at the most. taking you for granted thinking you always be there, how forgetful am I. the times we shared. the time I should have spent. all the gifts given to me foolishly spent as if a young kid with money for the first time. You know that first time you bought you own clothes. my mother would slap me for you. my grandmother would have loved you. I wish you were here my brother speaks of you often. we both wonder where are you hopefully living. miss your punk *** too. don't get f***** up you know I love you. I miss the way you subtly flirting with me I'm miss you lying. I respect your ways and failed to recognize the fact you respected mine. all of us have secrets. some of us wish to share more. yeah I'm still selfish in my ways into a matured understand the old cliche goes you never know what you have until you lose it. knowing what I know now we were just Batman and Robin Bonnie and Clyde bye bye blackbird. it's too bad sometimes my mother taught me way better than that. my sister would have disowned me not I'm a little more mature there's no second chance cuz the second hand is broken thus I leave it at that the woman of my life.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 12:16 PM UTC
What do you see, old man, sitting alone by the fire?
Heartless world of scorn and hurt , treasuring hate like a philosopher's stone.
Judgment passed, greybeard by the road,
Must be a thief, waiting for the night to dawn.
His sunken eyes know the way into the dark
As evil forbearing comes with the folds in his hand
Wrinkles on his face, countless tales to recount
How he crept thru the darkness, still and quietly,
And watched as the baby cried with fear.
How shallow this world, with its looks and half learnt lessons,
The old man by the fire, his tales of a world so far from this.
Child, learner, lover and father
His sunken eyes reveal the times he's forgiven with a heart, so grand.
With his very hands, he's cared and worked for the ones he loved
His wrinkles recount tales of a life well served.
But now, he sits, alone by the fire,
Disowned, refused,
Unwanted, forgotten.
Caught up in the web of the world,
Buried in the sands of time.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 12:19 AM UTC
There was once a fox, a fox whose name had gone unknown, but nevertheless was in truth all on its own.
With a pelt of fire and auburn, and eyes deep and serious, it was no doubt why so many considered the fox "mysterious".
Yet, this tale is different, and I will tell you why, this fox was not like the rest, he sought to be like the wolves- twas' no lie.
He envied their beauty, their ability and strength, in fact his admiration went on to a fractured great length.
He would try to howl and change his stature- hell even his look, it was a matter of great indifference, but try as he might- no matter how long it took.
In time, after so much effort he took to the wolf, they welcomed him and never knew his story, pride and arrogance he was engulfed.
He followed and lived as one for the while he was deceived, but after all the time had past, disgust and mockery from all other animals was what he received.
It was only when the wolves outwitted him and made him a fool, that they chased him and slandered him, oh, the treatment had been cruel.
Now the fox understood why animals each held their own class and identity, when he realized then why he was meant to be.
A fox he was and would always stay, to the start of his life to the finish of his decay. Yet, he was reminded of why foxes were special, it was because they were no one else; it was stupid to compare, whether it be lion or mouse. He saw beauty in an idol of its own, he became so mesmerized and driven, that even his heart he disowned. He saw no beauty in himself, when really all others did, that now his respect and dignity was so pitifully dead.
Though he admired the wolves and tried to seek them without end, let it be known fame and popularity is a horrid trend. So there are others greater and have more to do, but have you ever considered they may wish to be you?
Like the fox who wanted to be a wolf, but in time fell too much in greed, be careful of the lies you choose to follow and take heed! Because not every beautiful face is as kind and free, be happy you are You and can declare "I am me."
❥
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 11:11 PM UTC