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Zebras With Spots

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A sea of black and white
never seen standing alone
a mass of unerring identicality
no one daring to be different

we walk with the same stride
talk with the same rhythm
hardly any
difference between any two

too afraid to walk in solitude
Afraid that standing out will get me killed
not wanting to face the lions on the hunt

the pain of the tearing words and claws
against my fragile sense of belonging,
of being needed.

knowing that it’s safer to travel in groups
who are exactly like me,
and that it is dangerous to want to be unique.

so I wait in the background,
wanting my moment to shine,
to rise above the rest,
but knowing I never will
because, here,
different is not something to be proud of.





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