39 posts
  • calexis 14w

    courageous try

    Grow up and write,
    Grow up and move on for life to get easier,
    Grow up and give it a try. 
    Break their expectations before they 
    Break you. 
    Because oh girl, when they break you;
    They will break you for good. 

  • bushbaby 33w

    •The Black Sheep•

    You stand separate from the crowd.

    Your skin speaks for you; it speaks loud,
    Devoid of color, a deadly sign,
    That your destiny's destined for demise.
    You stand ugly, next to the flock,
    Your features are a warning bell; the devil's mark, shut doors and a frozen clock,
    And your every wrong step is evidence,
    That they exercise, in not shooting you down, benevolence,
    Out of the goodness of their painted skins.

    They cry about the beauty of difference,
    Yet your difference is different; it's a grievance,
    Don't you know your way's been predicted, apprehended,
    Your inevitable doom, by the words of some colour-blind fools?
    You did not ask to be faced with their frowns,
    When your odd frame stood too short for their inherited golden crowns,
    You did not wish to be labeled a disgrace,
    Or against your will, become a symbol; a story to recall, to advise on some cheap mistake.

    In a field of white, you've been rejected.
    You long to feel accepted, but they said stay away, you're infected;
    Infected with their ideals, infected with their hate, maybe,
    Who decides that white is unblemished,
    That black can't be warmth, can't be kindness, can't be loyalty?
    You do not need to paint yourself white,
    To win that race or lose that fight,
    For the whole flock gazes up at the same sky,
    And the sun and the moon and the twinkling of the night;
    Does it really matter, when the day ends, if your coat's a little less light?

    Isn't that the truth, that when the dusk falls,
    Colors and voids look the same, stripped down to a man's choice?
    When the darkness settles, it won't be clear, the color of your skin,
    But the strength of your voice will ring out; your choices, and your inborn spirit.

    You stand separate from the crowd.

    Your skin speaks for you, it speaks loud;
    Muddy with endurance, and hardened by strife,
    They tried to break you, but the damage merely made you wise;
    Wise enough to know you could live just as well as them, stuck on your side of the tracks,
    Though they stand pristine and polished,
    And you stand alone, laden with cracks.

    #oddoneout #blacksheep #rejected #roughlife #wrongtracks #different #motivational #pod #mirakee #writersnetwork

    Read More

    The Black Sheep - your skin speaks for you;
    it speaks loud


  • angels_halo_shines 36w

    No Matter

    No matter how bad the pain gets
    I can do this.
    No matter how hurt I am,
    I can get through this.
    No matter who says what,
    I will stand tall, chin up.
    ~ ~
    No matter how she comes at me
    I will remain calm.
    No matter the lies she feeds me.
    I will stand by the truth.
    No matter who says what I know
    ~ ~
    And what you sure believed in,
    I'd never find out the truth.
    You was fooling yourself, weren't you?
    I tried to tell you who I was, so many damn times mom.

    You thought it was all hogwash.
    In the end the truth is shining in.
    You see now, possibly as I do.
    I wonder if that's why the BIG change?

  • cardelljhardy 81w

    Black Sheep

    Rid yourself of your black wool!
    You have all the necessary tools.
    Your differences don't mind to me.
    We are all united and spread out like a tree.
    Ba ba black sheep, have you any wool?
    Yes sir, yes sir, I've been transformed
    And God ever so rules!

  • vasubandhu 82w


  • sesquipedalian_squirrel 84w

    Pained lambs

    I wonder if my flock miss me.

    Then i remember they don't.

    They are perfect now u know. All with their shiny white coats.

    All they had to do was get rid of the black sheep.

    Its what I get for standing out.

    I used to think that is was beautiful to be different. That I were so brave.

    But I learnt that beauty

    Is pain

    And i must have been stunning

    Because the pain is killing me

  • samanthaharper 85w

    Dad Can't You See

    Dad why do you look at my like that with such anger and disgust?
    Aren't I your little girl to or is it just my sister's?

    Dad why did you leave me all those times growing up what did I do?

    Dad can't you see I'm trying with you?
    Trying to build something we never had like you did my sister's?

    Why are you kicking me out again? It's because I'm with a girl? Or because I stand up to you?

    Why do you say all those awful things to me then expect me to be okay?

    Don't you understand I'm ill that it's not bullshit and lies?
    Can't you see you had a part to play in this?
    I thought you understood when I was hospitalized but it only lasted for sometime.

    Can't you see how much you hurt me when you blame me for everything?
    Can't you see I'm exausting myself walking on eggshells around you?
    Hiding in my room so I don't cause any fights…you ignoring me is so stressful it's wearing me out.

    I feel my moods swaying as dark thoughts fill my head again.

    I'm trying here I'm trying to be better and see your point on things. But when can't you see mine?

    Why do you hate me…when you are also the one that brought me into this world.

  • romen81 92w

    “I was the dandelion amongst roses. I was never anyone’s first choice–
    But nonetheless I still bloomed.
    And that was
    enough for
    —Kelsey Gustafsson

  • crowmedicine 105w

    Ode To A Black Sheep

    Black sheep,
    Walker on the wierd side,
    Abstract maverick,
    Barrelling towards somewhere else,
    Seeing third eye bright,
    You are my,
    We are alike,
    In our unalikeness to society,
    So walk with me,
    Hang around a while,
    It's better to travel in a pack.

  • unveiledperception 107w

    Untitled 1

    My hope is that I remain radiant after all of this fallout
    Blinders off
    My eyes are open wider this time around
    Keep searching for something profound in a world that will never feel the same
    Constantly in transition, my exhaustion weighing me down
    The embers of cigarettes guiding me into the night
    There is comfort in the smell
    A taste of misfit in the air I subconsciously crave
    All of us lurking in shadow
    Hiding from our personal hell


  • monishka_sharma 113w

    Most dangerous animal?

    A black sheep under the mask of true friend

  • rachelezell27 115w

    Where is Everyone?!

    You think I don't notice,
    You think I don't hear,
    And though you do whisper,
    The words still reach my ears.

    You think me too gullible,
    So very easy to dismiss,
    And though I often say nothing,
    It doesn't mean that I don't notice.

    You try being stared at,
    Watched just like a hawk,
    Glared at with suspicion,
    When you see a friend or take a walk.

    You try living life,
    Under a magnifying glass,
    Trying to move forward,
    While others keep digging up your past.

    I soaked the sheets with sweat,
    I hurt and ached and cried,
    I went through a version of hell,
    I was all alone for the ride.

    I battled the demons,
    I fought the awful despair,
    to finally emerge on the other side,
    and find that no one was there.

    There have been so many times,
    You guys just don't know,
    I came so close to ending it,
    I spiralled but it never showed.

    I wish someone really knew me,
    If so they would have known,
    During my moments of deepest despair,
    It's not safe to leave me alone.

    It's very hard to see,
    Without knowing for what you're looking,
    But if you ever look closely enough,
    You can see it's always there lurking.

    I do nothing to give any hints,
    I want no one else to ever know,
    No I'm not the sort to whine or moan,
    Or put on an elaborate show.

    I tend to go the other way,
    Making others laugh and grin,
    I am goofy and I smile a lot,
    Until I remove my mask again.

    Had you met me in one of these moments,
    You wouldn't have guessed that it was me,
    The same girl that wrote this poem,
    You now see laughing and carefree.

    I don't know why I do that,
    It's so fake and I can't stand it,
    The more I hurt, the more I joke,
    Until it becomes almost manic.

    I'm supposed to stay strong,
    keep holding on and always have the answers,
    Meanwhile this pain grows and I can't let it show,
    But it eats at me like a cancer.

    My family's disdain,
    only serves to feed my pain,
    They don't know that I don't hook
    Or stick a needle in my veins.

    I've been clean really,
    For about 18 months,
    Yet they still watch me so closely,
    Like hungry lions on the hunt.

    Yes I am an addict,
    And no I won't deny it,
    But honestly guys, you know me,
    I'm not the sort to hide it.

    So why can't you believe me,
    When I say that I am sober?
    It was the meanest demons that I've fought,
    The hardest hurdle to get over.

    I started out so proud of myself,
    It's the longest that I've ever gone,
    They'll never know how I suffered each night,
    Counting the hours down until dawn.

    Every day for many days,
    That's all that I could do,
    Count the hours down until dawn,
    Then count the daylight's too.

    Just recently I got through,
    The absolute worst part,
    I came to them, finally clean,
    To find suspicion in their hearts.

    In that moment I could feel,
    My pride begin to fade,
    Realizing I couldn't please them,
    and how they'd always see me,
    My hope finished fading away.

    As of this moment I am still clean,
    Though I cannot find a reason at all,
    The struggle grows harder , I feel my limbs twitch,
    And I can feel my skin start to crawl.

    I grit my teeth and scratch my thighs,
    desperately fighting the tears that fill my eyes,
    How long can I hold out and stay on this hellish ride?
    This battle would be so much easier,
    With my people at my side.

    I find myself standing alone,
    As I so often do,
    These stained carpets and empty walls,
    A very familiar view.

    Loneliness has seeped in,
    To the point that I can taste it,
    The heavy black flavor so very bitter,
    That I almost can't fucking take it.

    Another familiar flavor,
    Usually follows the first,
    Salty and watery on my lips,
    The tears can't quench my thirst.

    I need someone to understand,
    To believe me and help get me through,
    If someone doesn't come along soon,
    I really don't know what I'll do.

    I want my mother and my sister,
    My brother and my crew,
    I want the people that I love most,
    Before I come unglued.

    ~ Rachel G Ezell


  • tiarrahope 116w

    The black sheep

    I've always been somewhat of a black sheep.
    I've never aimed to fit in like most, some think that makes me weak.
    I don't give a damn if I'm liked by everyone or not.
    I've always kinda pittied people that attempt to act like "Mr. Hot Shot".
    Instead I wanna befriend someone humble and kind.
    Someone funny that has a open mind.
    It's difficult to find people you can really vibe with.
    Someone you can crack jokes with and tell your secrets.
    I've always associated with people you would consider an outcast.
    The nerds, rebels and burnouts, "why that is? " some may ask.
    I guess because they're like me, a black sheep.
    And I pray the Lord our soul to keep.


  • jewelz007 120w


    Who am I? I could sometimes answer that vividly and in depth. Other times I would not be able to utter a single word.

    I am a harmless butterfly who radiates enchantment and laughter.

    Yet I am a predatory beast who wreaks havoc and chaos.

    I may lightly brush across your skin or perhaps harshly gouge at your soul.

    For that is why I frequently question, Who am I?

  • vikkoo 121w

    I may be the black sheep, but the white ones aren't as white as they pretend to be.

  • umagowri 123w

    Black sheep

    The oddball...or rather
    The rotten one
    Odd indeed is its life
    "failures" became its synonym
    "Perfection" always belonged to its kinsfolk
    "Success" meant being sculpted by
    the sculptor called society
    The black sheep was always an outcast
    In its own world
    Never understood,lonely,chaotic,dark
    Many emotions slayed
    Always searching for happiness
    As time goes...
    When perfect became not so perfect
    When truth revealed itself layer by layer
    Even the perfect is lonely in its own world
    Every perfect and black sheep
    fighting its own fight
    Like a ticking bomb
    Waiting...and waiting

  • velvetink 126w

    Black Sheep

    I wouldn't be in jail
    If I followed all the rules
    I guess I wasn't born
    With the proper set of tools
    The one's that people use
    To live a normal way
    Not for us Black Sheep
    We have to pay to play
    The felonies become
    Just notches on our belts
    Feelings stuffed beneath the drugs
    Longing to be felt
    Wandering these halls
    Stark hallways of our brain
    Wired to be a criminal
    Wired to be insane
    Here we always end up
    Behind these concrete walls
    It's the only life we've known
    We answer when evil calls
    We brag about our conquests
    And the substances we use
    But really we're just dead inside
    Dead from the abuse

  • shivaparab 127w


    हर जगा खुला मंजर नही होता।
    जो जुबा पे होता है।
    वो दिल के अन्दर नहीं होता।
    हम कल भी हारे थे,आज भी हारे,कल भी हारेगे।
    पर याद रहे ऐक बार जितके कोई सिकन्दर नही होता।

  • icy_girl 128w


    I always feel like an alien.
    Bcoz I know that I'm nothing like you.
    Nor anyone....
    All this stuff makes me feel shamed of myself...
    Sometimes I wish I was like you and other people...
    And not an black sheep...

  • mmbftd 137w


    My mother taught me
    How to press flowers
    Into heavy hardbound
    College books.
    She carried those textbooks like armor
    A shield against my father's
    She blossomed in college
    Found her place there
    Among Dusty library shelves
    Buried in research
    Learning all she could
    Making friends who spoke her mother tongue.
    Spanish would lead her to her freedom, she tucked it under her battered wings
    And held it dear
    A never ceasing gift
    From the island she was born on.
    And her handstitched quilt
    Pieced together by her own Cuban mother
    Spread out over the sharp and itchy blades of summer green grass
    Burnt orange and yellow-gold cordouroy fabrics forced together in tiny squares of dizzying patterns.
    Just like my parents
    Forced together by their own desperate need to be loved by someone, anyone, at any cost, regardless of whether they fit or not. Did their individual pieces create a loving whole?
    And they smashed into each other often
    Struggling for power and control
    We were part of the games
    Us kids
    Tugged and shoved and pushed and loved and punished for the way we carried their genes.
    We wore the expressions, mannerisms and skin of them
    And reminded them of each other.
    We were punished accordingly, though our genetics were not our fault-
    and it took many years to realize we were resented because we resembled replicas of the people they once loved...each other.
    I wore the mask of my father's mistakes and so, my mother assumed I was his copy.
    I was not.
    I was good and kind and timid and loving. I was sweet and gentle and honest to a fault- even if it meant my body would be welted by that thick, black leather belt or raised red with the shape of my mother's tiny angry hands.
    It confused me for so many years. I was confounded as to why she hated me so much even as she professed her maternal love in front of others. Her surprising hugs that startled me in public as she gloated to strangers how I was her favorite child and how much talent I had. I must have betrayed her ruse, as I flinched when her arms came towards me and my eyes widened with shock as she told them what a perfect daughter I had always been. This was the most surprising thing I had ever heard from her usually pursed lips. Her familiar scowl of anger, the grating tone of hatred and disgust carried by her voice, completely vanished. Then there was this soft, kind spoken, inauthentic high pitched avalanche of compliments hurled around me. Such confusion for me. This dichotomy.
    And yet I remember her happy for moments...anytime we were on campus. Me dragged from class to class, sitting quietly outside the room, in the sunlight with a paper Dixie cup scooping fast guppy fish from a small fountain in the courtyard. I sat obediently. It felt like a whole day. I was so bored but I knew better than to speak it. I would have been accused of trying to ruin all her plans for an education. But each time she screamed at me; she was really screaming at him; my father. I was an innocent casualty of marital war.
    And yet, her gentle and real tone was only in the very early years of my life...on that quilt. As she pointed to beautiful and strange violet-white flowers that fell from the tree and twisted in spirals to the grass around us. A summertime breeze of perfect temperature filled our noses with a too sweet, burning floral scent.
    And I ran here and there, wherever she would point her delicate fingers and collected these strange flowers for her. I ran them to her in my cupped child hands; hoping she would be satisfied. She would open a heavy book that smelled of hope and freedom, placing it between the stiff pages filled with yellow highlighted text. She closed the book and held it tightly. She pressed it down hard the way she did to me my whole life, the way my father did to her. And we both hoped we would find those flowers someday, beautifully preserved by the weight of our love.