Blend.
I was the grey hair
on the baby’s head,
the ugly Casanova,
the bug that traded
his wings for feelings
and wished he could
trade them back,
the herd’s first
carnivorous cow,
the vegan piranha,
the one who got you
back on your feet
and then the one
you left behind,
the sheep
in wolf’s clothing,
the ghost of all that
was and ever will be –
never blending into
the crowd –
even when
I tried.
About the Author: Gwil James Thomas is a novelist, poet and inept musician originally from Bristol, England. He is a Best of The Net nominee whose work has recently been featured in print in Low Light Magazine, 3 Poets Volume 1, Paper & Ink and online in Punk Lit Press, Cephalo Press, Expat Press and Under The Bleachers. He has two forthcoming poetry chapbooks from Concrete Meat Press and Holy & Intoxicated Publications. He is currently laying low somewhere in Northern Spain.
Image Credit: “Unidentified man in costume with back to camera, going through side of a curtain” Digital image courtesy of the Getty’s Open Content Program.
As It Ought To Be 