I’m angry at how weak my tiny heart has become
walked over again and again
like a field heavy with the burden of animals
grazing the grass until its yellow and patchy in places.
i’m throttled on
by all of you.
So use to cleaning up after others long gone
so used to the stingers sting
that even when it burns my skin
i feel the linger but ignore the pain
Like a pony left in a unsheltered field
i look pretty to the untrained eye
but i’m rotting over the rain
i’m not eating right
its a shame
that something so beautiful can rot and no one even sees
that this cob named gypsy might as well be me
for just like me she loves and calls out for attention
running and neighing
eating apples from a hand she doesn’t even know
cause the grass there isn’t healthy i know...
Shes so pretty gypsy cob
and yet inside shes rotting
her stomach bloated and ill
her hoofs cracked
her tail so long she cant trot for shell stand on it
like my burdened shoulders weigh me down
this cob understands me some how.