Blackest Sheep

Three stood in photos that have crossed the feed of the past. Blank in the meaning of a missing figure standing in a line with the rest. Each picture plays a part in the way that a life is played out, left out and unwanted. Three supporting the others while looking down on the rest, or speaking behind their back.

A harmless prank creating a rift and deep seated mistrust. Saying the wrong things and sinking deep into the back seat to hide from the muttered words and the hidden annoyance. A place that was now comfortable but also questioning themselves in their place, shifting their thinking to believe that the pedestal was not created by one, but most.

Unable to separate as children, but left out when depression started sinking in. Trying to hold onto childhood memories, but found rough hands laced in fabric and tears of broken promises.

Grasping for sand was easier than mending lost friendships.

It was hard to believe that there was love within the world, being denied the love for so long within the arms of those who were meant to be the first friends. Today, we grow older and set aside the life that happened in the past. Growing apart was easy when one who hurt the most was left behind. But the love found within ourselves never managed to break through until the lowest point; giving up on reaching for love, but finding it within.

It all ended up the same; drifting on a plank of wood with rushing water at all sides. The emotion placed inside the heads of those who are the blackest sheep. Never apart from anything aside from judgment and higher standards; too far to reach. Others held on a pedestal that was unobtainable to some leaving them on the drift wood of the raging river.

Their bodies were temples with stained glass windows; telling a life story without having to utter a single word, but the judgment outweigh the achievements displayed at their feet.

Standing alone turned out to be a better option than trying to attempt to be in the spotlight for a few seconds before something better grabbed the attention of those who held the blue book to their chest, defining the line of what love meant.

Those standing at the doors of large white buildings, creating a holy promise securing a spot on that unobtainable pedestal, wrapped in the warm arms of those with the blue book in their hand, but sneers across their face as a couple in love have the same gender.

Lagging behind and rushing to turn the pages of life. Rushing into making promises to appease the defining line and trying to gain a spot in the arms of those whose opinions meant that the sheep were cared for; tended to only to lose sight of themselves while attempting to follow the same steps, never fitting in the mold.

A mold that was never meant for them.

Acceptance and content of where they were was the hardest pill to swallow.

Staying quiet allowed those to listen and retract themselves. Rough hands still haunting dreams, but blame sank the wound to the heart shifting the color of wool to the darkest shade of black; unmoving from a lighter shade.

Embracement; deepening the rift, but never lowered their chin. Their dreams high within the clouds, unable to be seen by those who remained close minded.

Reading; dreaming a sudden escape from the claws against their skin. Writing a world no one knew or could mock. A world of bliss and creation to feel what it is like to be held in the comfort of words.

Success is defined as not those who correct us, but by the mistakes that we learn and grow from. Being content with the world that is created and never allowing others to tear it down around them.

The blackest sheep are meant to grow from other’s words, learning from other people’s mistakes and taking a step forward where those might have skipped.

Content being the blackest sheep is an honor not missed.