If I were a black sheep, I would understand the reason I graze in a field alone... and I would already know why no one stays, family runs and love lingers not, if I were a black sheep....
If I were a black sheep I could comprehend the complexities in the coarseness of my wool, the uniqueness of my look, and why I am so distinctly different; not easily conformed, or braided into the mindless folds of the worlds' fabricated reality... for simply being... a black sheep... I'm rejected and ejected...
As a black sheep I’d be born into the awareness of being odd, fueld by struggled attempts to become mainstream and normal... They’d all just be my repeated strokes of failure... I’d be too concious of being a black sheep and too selfish to not...
"YESSIR, YESSIR, I’m 3 bag’s so very full..." one bag jam packed with charred heartaches, festering heartbreaks and scarred flesh... another bag overflowing with a lingering darkness in the corners of my eyes, expectations of hurt and lies floating like an oily film over the desires of my mind... and the last sullied sack, dirty with marks of being pulled through fluttering relationships, judgements and slanders... a black sheep...
I stand here in the openess of life, grazing in my field alone... It’s a picture perfect display called "the black sheep" the one un-pretty, the odd one, the one that just doesn’t fit in with the rest... that black sheep... motherless, abandoned, mis-used and distrusted... that ugly ass black sheep, un-wanted, nothingness and indifferent, angry and bitter... incapable of loving or giving worth... that black sheep... that gh’at damned black sheep...
It’s his pride of being.... that keeps him, the black sheep...
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