Sunday Rhymes 11

The Real Black Sheep

Damage is torn, from a wrecked soul,
Pushing away as your inside pain unfolds,
Pupils dilated, brows edged,  from the scene of hatred,
Those are disagreeing with what you find sacred.

Piercing words, a stab from your seated position,
Anger at those who cross your morals, they aren’t forgiven,
Arguments that blur solid lines,
Mixing up statements, falsified online.

False accusation, accustomed to murder,
Facebook vigilantes come to rescue her,
If you believe in the cops, go fuck yourself,
Those are the top of misinformation’s wealth.

An online protest, an angered race,
Vigilantes actions, violent and misplaced,
Facebook shares, attracting all attention,
Shoddy reporters. Their ‘no need’ for redemption.

Friends turned violent on the social airwaves,
Telling you where to go, your opinions aren’t allowed on their page,
Which side is right and who is wrong,
Who will you turn to when loved ones are long gone.

I have lived this simple life,
Blocking out those who have caused me strife,
I am the real black sheep,
Keeping the distance, no secrets for you to keep.

I live with the understanding of being alone,
Dropping friends, and family, there is none I condone,
A vicious predator in the night,
I don’t care if you are right. 

But I know the risk that is involved,
When you walk down the path to this resolve,
I know the pain,
When all is, done, you may want those friends again.

So hear my cry,
My urgency for you to aim higher,
When battles are lost, on the Facebook front,
Telling someone to ‘Fuck Off’ because they don’t follow your views makes you sound like an ignorant cunt. 

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