Some people are raised
From a very young age
to believe that they’re
special and one of a kind.
And as they grow, they’re
Devastated to find out that
We’re all the same
They buy a home
They have a few kids
They conform to
The sociable
And they’re happy
Then there’s the people who
From the beginning of their lives
Are told that they’re worthless
And they succumb to the
Pressure of those crushing
Adjectives and they wither
And fall
Into drugs or crime or civil
disobedience to everything

We are made to believe that
The norm is to settle.
Is to capitulate to the standards
Of everyone around us.
Yes we’re all the same
But what makes us different isn’t
Our appearance or our race or gender
Or our personal style.
What makes us, Us.
Is our capacity to hope.
To dream.
To cherish.
To love.
To grasp something so tightly
to your chest that your body
has no choice but to make it
its own
Those exact things also makes us
The same  
We are all artists in the grand
Scheme of things
In our own universes, In front of us
Stands the canvas of decisions
Make sure you create something
Worth the trouble