A Toast to The Black Sheep

Today, I'll show no inner demons
when they probe the soundness of my mental state.
I will put on a mask of composure
and play out a well-rehearsed charade
as I raise a glass to the black sheep's defiant fate.

Behind these eyes, a tempest rages,
a maelstrom of emotions I've learned to conceal,
lest the cracks in my facade give way,
revealing the truth that I've struggled to heal.

In this family, conformity is the reward for obedience,
a prize I've never envied or sought to win.
Embracing instead, the path of the misfit,
the rebel's way, come what may.

I'll sip this wine from the bottle, glass cups aren’t worthy.
I love my wine fermented from the grapes in my vineyard.
Another toast to the black sheep's resilience,
in commemoration of our tenacity in the face of castigations.

let them whisper behind cupped hands,
tsk and cluck their judgmental tongues,
for in their narrow minds, they'll never comprehend
the freedom found in marching to one's drums.
Today, I may don the mask they demand,
play the role they've assigned me with grace,
but tonight, when the shadows embrace me,
I'll shed this skin to let the black sheep unveil its face.

I will toast to the eccentrics, the outcasts, and the sages,
those who dare to color outside the lines
for in our defiance, we can forge a legacy,
start a global revolution, one act at a time.