bah, bah, black sheep

i am the one
who gets all the stares,
eyes linger over tattoos,
piercings and dyed hair.
not a wolf in sheep’s clothing,
just a wearer of wool,
trying to stay warm.

i am the one
who grew up at gilman street
going deaf from the decibels
dumb from the drugs;
the runaway
dreaming in cars, wanting
to wake up
in another state.

i am the one
who is not afraid
to stray
from the fold,
to walk
with a pack on her back
for three months,
across ten countries,
learning new language
and human nature.

i am the one
who educated the public
about their privates,
first as an owner of the cooperative
then as a shareholder of the corporation
and finally
as an employee of the cleveland porn king.

i am the one
who can’t count sheep;
the insomniac
with a prescription for sleep,
the diabetic
with disordered eating,
preferring the perfumed flavor of ethnic cuisine
to a low-cal
low-fat
low-taste
diet.

i am the one
who believes
in tradition with a twist,
marriage in an aquarium,
kisses among the fishes.

i am the one
who lost her mother,
gained her father
and found herself,
the black sheep
of my own family,
the even blacker sheep
of his.

bah, meh.

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One response to “bah, bah, black sheep

  1. Thanks for sharing this poem. It speaks (to me) of a life that though hard, sometimes painful, has a hidden pheonix. Was it hard to write? I imagine tears, plus a sense of dignity, when you wrote it. The repitition gives the piece a build up of the story. Good luck with the writing course. You’ll do well.
    Jenny

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