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An outcast
What's the shape of an outcast?
The shape in which it will never fit in.
There must be a name to it, no?
Or should the Black swan give in?
Deep in the cold slumber,
suffocating in the icy water,
Struggling for the feathery warmth,
Should it dive further in?
May be it will find a pearl,
Maybe it will be torn apart,
May be the monsters will rise,
And tuck it further in.
What will it make of void?
Will it be sidelined in the corner?
Or will it go darker to the core?
Or will it submit to its last sin?

© Anamika Tripathi