The world,it would seem,despises Grey.
Loathe I am to accept this.
Normal,they say,is a matter of perspective.
Above social labels I rise,
Even as those with their pure white pull me down.
Black tries to tempt me,alluring and deep,
I am torn.
In sickness and in health,they vow,
Clearly better people than me.
Custom,is a matter of expectation,
I believe in nothing at all.
Also go read Elusive Words.,a collaborative poem I absolutely loved. It’s Beautiful.