Black Sheep

I don’t think I’m crazy,

I grew up the black sheep.

I avoid my problems with sleep,

my dad tells me I’m lazy.

My confinement makes me weak.

I grew up the black sheep.

My confinement makes me weak,

memories of freedom are hazy.

I grew up the black sheep.

Consequences are all I reap,

my parents never praise me.

My confinement makes me weak.

Loneliness reaches its peak.

Happiness dies like a daisy.

I grew up the black sheep.

I learned not to speak,

and I don’t think I’m crazy.

My confinement makes me weak.

I have chosen to post my villanelle as my official poem to wrap up NaPoWriMo because of all thirty poems I have written, this one had relieved the most internal thoughts from my mind. It came to me fairly easily, and the pieces I wanted to emphasize were easy to emphasize due to the repetitive structure.

Growing up, and still growing, I have been the black sheep of my family, I had felt out of place for a while. Not until recently I realized the ostracizing behavior I had gone blind to, really subconsciously affected me in small but change causing ways.

This unit helped me a lot, as poetry is something I tend to gravitate towards. I feel like the simplistic use of metaphors and similes to express something is most effective in poetry as opposed to other writing.

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