Mud on my face,
They call me a devil,
A bruise,
A curse—
But a lamb, they cry,
A lamb lost in the womb,
In the ground—
A lamb.
Who, then, was the wolf,
Who slaughtered,
Sacrificed,
Abandoned—
This lamb is gone.
The call it sickness,
This lamb.
I, the lamb with broken legs,
The child who mourns—
I, the dusty thing,
They left here,
The lamb.
YOU ARE READING
honey & homesickness
Poetrythe healing & the hope // the hunger & the high // the hate & the hurt
