not unique at all

November 10, 2013
When we were little, our parents told us,
That we where stars.
Everyone was the best at something,
And we were good at our own talent.

They f***ing lied.

There are those among us, that walk,
They shape the world, and we all know there name.

I used to think I was one.
But I’m not.

I can sing-
But I’m usually off key-
And the only instrument I can play,
Is a godman tamborine.

I can write, too.
But can’t make a rhyme.

Also, I’m gay!
But I’m not the most flamboyant.
So I don’t get the attention,
Or the spotlight.

I’m white-
And I’m a dude.

I’m depressed-
But not suicidal.
So they write it off,
As self-pity.

I realize this,
As i’m sitting on the floor,
After a counterpoint verbal duel,
with my dear mother.

And it hits me-
As I stare into the void,
Like a broken angel statue,
Alone in a sea of souls-

That if I die,
Right now.
I’ll be forgotten.

The stars won’t cry,
the world and the presses won’t stop.
The funeral will be half-assed,
And everyone I know will have moved on in a year or two.

So what have I learned?
To accept my fate of
And obscurity?

Au, contraire.
I may hurt myself,
But I want to live.
I want to be known.

I want to live my life,
In a way,
And a mannor,
That will make the stars weep for me.

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This article has 1 comment. Post your own now!

sunnyryan907 said...
Nov. 17, 2013 at 1:45 pm
I thought that this was amazeing. It really speaks the truth about how e have to make the world remember us, if thats what we want. 5/5 stars!
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