We are all born into the world the same way:
Gasping for breath and stretching our arms to find a loving grasp.
We all leave the world in the same way too:
Searching for air to fill our lungs once more and the hope that we are not alone.
We all enter the same vicious cycle of life:
Growing up, only to be given the terrible news
That we will only have seventy-some years to live.
You will die and it is a terminal disease
Plaguing everyone.
Good luck escaping.
Maybe you’ll be the first, but I highly doubt it.
I haven’t seen anyone do it yet.
When we are young, we are given the whole crayon box,
Wild, bright, and beautiful colors to create whatever our imagination can think of
Hopefully something just as wild and bright and beautiful as the colors we use.
Every year we get older
More and more of our crayons are taken away
So that we are only left with a mere few,
All neutral colors.
Our drawings are compared to those around us,
Get put up on the wall to display,
And all use the same colors.
Soon, all the drawings begin to even look the same.
All the same colors.
When you politely ask for your rainbow back,
Midnight blue
Lemon yellow
Flamingo pink
Forest green
Those around you begin to judge.
Your drawings look different,
You don’t fit in.
Many shy away from your vividness, from your life,
Who are you to go against the status quo?
Some share their colors which you are lacking,
Royal purple
Mandarin orange
Flaming red
Periwinkle
And your drawing becomes
A masterpiece
It’s abstract
A product of an active imagination
Everything you want your dreams to be.
The vicious cycle of life:
Being born the same
Learning to be different
Told you must act the same
Dying the same
If we all begin and end in this world the same,
Why keep our lives the same?
Why hesitate when asking for silver or gold?
Why fit in
When we are as unique as our fingerprints?