Not One of Them Was Me
I ever fit I was The Black Sheep
Not One of Them Was Me
They stood like they belonged.
Same smile, same silence,
like they’d practised it in mirrors
until it stuck.
One wore neat squares,
all edges, all structure.
A tidy mind, a sharper tongue.
Never forgot a slight.
Never forgave one.
Another, dressed in scales,
said nothing real.
Just shimmered and shifted,
talked in echoes,
borrowed truths from others.
Wore loyalty like a brooch,
clipped on, easy to lose.
The third,
wrapped in twisted diamonds,
tight and showy.
Always needing eyes on her,
but never really saw you back.
They called me
one of us.
But I spoke too loud,
walked too far,
laughed at the wrong time.
I didn’t match their patterns.
Didn’t beg for place.
And when they closed their eyes,
as they always did,
they didn’t see I’d already left.
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (1)
I think we all feel like this from time to time and at times these times linger on and on. Good work.