Everyone aims for the same thing.
They just have a different things to do that with.
Whether it be music, sport, writing or whatever else.
We all have something, physically or not.
Most choose not to use the things they are have.
They try to use what others have.
Take what makes them unique and for most it leads to both having less.
Because although inspiration is good.
Taking that thing one person has and spreading it umong many.
Makes their thing have less value than everyone else's.
Making their thing cliché.
But does them doing their own thing makes them the original cliché? Or just a cliché because they have nothing original to them? Because everyone else took it.

Paint by number
your colors
just like everyone else.
But do not color
outside the lines.
There's no place for
extraordinary.

Shove the clay
of yourself
into a mold that
doesn't fit.
But do not dare look
for another one.
There's no place for
individuality.

Write out the story
of your cliché life
just like all the others.
But do not make
any revisions.
There's no room for
originality.

“Do you know, to my thinking it's a good thing sometimes to be absurd; it's better in fact, it makes it easier to forgive one another, it's easier to be humble. One can't understand everything at once, we can't begin with perfection all at once! In order to reach perfection one must begin by being ignorant of a great deal. And if we understand things too quickly, perhaps we shan't understand them thoroughly.”

Albums, collections of songs,
A collection of words
brought together
to right, wrongs
or just to hurt
they're there forever.

Somewhere.

Old recordings
on vinyl
or hand written on papers.
New recordings
still on vinyl
but more objected to haters.

To be

easily accessed
and heard by everyone
fans or not,
torn to shreds
when criticised, a song
is unappreciated for what

amount of effort

the artist went through
to create something new
and original
just for you,
for your ears. To view,
to be a signal.

That originality

isn't dead
or dying
or even injured
but instead
living
to be heard

by millions around the world.

A poet is sitting by the riverside
As he stares blankly into the water
He sees a copycat staring back at him
A poor man’s poet of the people

Once there was the promise of bravura and muster
Now his company is mind-numbing and lackluster

And there’s only one poet to blame
One man who deserves the centerpiece
In this game of shame
For a battologist he has always been

He never cared to forbear
The tedious yet sumptuous curse
Of repeating and echoing
And echoing and repeating

So the poet sits by the riverside
His glazy eyes fixed on a man in the water
Who would like to be a swan
But is doomed to be a vulture
The disciple of an inferior culture

It's amazing when I see
Scammers pretending to be
Someone else just to feel some glory
Oh, for them, I feel so sorry

how can they settle to be an imitation
When all they need is a little bit of contemplation
a little push of motivation
more on self-improvisation
and a whole lot of determination
And They could become God's best creation
and someone else's inspiration

Why settle at second best
When you can be the best

Those who dare to see
that beauty
is not rooted in conformity

As a writer,
does it matter that someone else
already thought my thoughts
before I did?
Or said what I'm about to say?
Or felt these emotions
making the words flow
out of me?
My thoughts aren't unique,
original,
or groundbreaking
but does that matter?
I don't mean them any less.
They are as real to me
as they were real to
the ones who thought them first,
the people who made history,
and even writers long gone.
They are my thoughts
as much as they were theirs.