Blood and water

I used to think blood meant forever, That family would never hurt you. “Blood’s thicker than water,” right? But I take the water— Wash away the blood, Remove the red-soaked stains from my life. Blood thicker than water? Maybe in another life. Family— A word that holds little meaning, A word they never earned. They should have been my safe space, Yet now there’s just an empty space, A place I no longer belong. I’m still here, But they are gone. I’m the black sheep of the family, You could say different from the rest. I never fit, no matter how much I changed my shape or colour. I tried to change, Tried to blend in, But I hated that I had to pretend— Pretend to be one of them. I finally realized maybe the black sheep isn’t bad. Maybe being different Is the realest thing this family has ever had.