Tag Archives: artist

once in a lifetime

I am a new creation. At the risk of sounding extremely narcissistic I will say, I am like nothing the world has ever seen and there will never be anyone like me ever again. I am a combination of my personality, my talents, my features, my experiences and my thoughts that cannot be recreated. This experience, this life that I am living right now, will take place once in a lifetime, in all the lifetimes that have ever walked and talked and breathed the air of this Earth and swum in its oceans and taken in the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Take a moment to think about that.

Sometimes our days feel like too much of a burden to bear. Our existence feels like a curse and we will wonder why we are here. We are here because we are different, because we change things just by existing. Even if that existence might seem small in comparison, just like a name etched on an old desk connects us to an unknown part of history and lets us know that someone once stood in that same place, we too shall be remembered.

People will try to convince us that we need to accomplish certain things to make our lives can matter, with champagne and cars and chateaus and vineyards. . Bank notes feel no loyalty towards anyone; it will pass hands from one man to another because that’s what it was meant to do. The only things we can own are our actions and words because that is how we truly make our mark on the world.

Our lives already matter. We matter simply by existing.

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poison

I didn’t get to choose my existence. You didn’t ask me if I wanted to be alive, if I wanted to experience life with all its moments of triumph and euphoria or shattering defeat. I didn’t get to select my personality or my characteristics like ingredients from a catalog or pick them out like they were series of labeled bottles displayed on a shelf. Nobody asked me if I wanted my mother’s eyes or my father’s temper.

Here I am, a brand new combination of features and quirks and likes and dislikes.

If I got to choose, I would have tried to make myself more likable to you. I might have picked a face that didn’t remind you of your ‘biggest mistake.’ I might have chosen to like the same things you like and want the same things you want. If I got to choose I would have recast every cell in my body to make you want me but this was not something I could have changed with change from within.

I know now, that what I am to you has nothing to do with me. My shortcomings are a reflection of your own insecurities. Your inability to trust or love with all your heart makes me look naive, your inability to allow yourself to dream once in a while makes my choices seem irrational and idiotic. They have swirled inside you like a poisonous dark cloud that spread long before my existence.

You should have given me a chance though… A chance to feel like I was worthy of love even if you were not the one who would. A chance to feel like my feelings mattered even if they didn’t matter to you. I shouldn’t have to walk on this earth feeling discarded and unwanted because of what I see when I look at myself through your eyes.

I am done beating myself up over things that could never be. I am done trying to solve a maze when you keep building new walls. My purpose on this earth cannot be limited simply to trying to please you. You think of yourself as the artist who will turn my life into a work of art but how do you plan on pulling that off when you can only see the world in shades of grey and gloom?

I don’t know what you want from me and I am done trying to deliver it. Trying to please you is like trying to recreate your favorite dish without a recipe while wearing a blindfold. I am given no clues as to what you expect, except when I am wrong. It’s an impossible maddening quest that I think I can walk away from now, without being called a quitter. It’s not quitting if I’ve tried for as long as you know I have. I think I lasted longer than most people would.