To the black sheep, hear our ode:
This is the sacred art of letters pieced together like a puzzle
For the ones whose thoughts seep into vocal chords as they boil up, overflow and spill out the mouth with waves of emotion
For the ones that somewhere along the way, the words and points we try to make get entangled into a ball of yarn.. alongside our heart’s sentiments
Fellow black sheep,
I see you, as you detangle and pull at each string, like it’s a perfected instrument
We yearn for our prose and our voices engulfed by flames, to be heard by the world so we can stitch together the wounds of society’s brokenness
For we are the odd ones out of the herd, where our adversity lies in the tunes we can sometimes lose
We scream so loud that we feel like the boy who cried wolf
Although the tunes of our thoughts may seem to get lost and dissipate into constant distractions from our authentic self…
Those lost tunes will forever be a medley and undertones of other forgotten art, each time we use our voice
The heart of our flames will grow, as we rise above attempts to be silenced
We will spread our warmth like wildfire and know no other truth that is of our own, and life itself
Black sheep, we will glimmer just as bright.