Our Cry

We all cry out to be unique, different...special. the girl in her rain-boots at school. people and their crazy hair-styles. the way they live their lives, everything about everyone in some way is either an attempt to become someone new, something undiscovered or the opposite, to fit in and be accepted.

but the cry is often quenched. we know somewhere within us that everything has already previously been worn, made, seen and felt. like the idea that no story is completely it's own, only a reflection of the great story that encompasses all, there is no new ground to be trod. But still we all want something to be completely unique to just us, something to call only for ourselves {that sounds a little selfish...but unless you're perfect, I believe you'll agree with me deep down somewhere}.

And when we can't find anything...we resort to nothing. all hope is given up. we tell ourselves that we could never sing as good or as well as her so why try? we say to ourselves that i'm just as likely as the next person to win, if not less so, so why sign up just to be humiliated? there will always be someone out there who can do it better than you, or even have the exact same idea...making it all the more less unique and more of a joke.

{or maybe this is all just me...in which case disregard}

so what can we genuinely be? What is truly ours? or is nothing really...us.

I'm reminded briefly of a song i used to sing as a little girl but the only lines i can remember are these piece-meal ones:

No one else can smile my smile,

Cause it only belongs to me.

...

it's my smile yes-sir-ee

No one else can laugh your laugh,

'Cause it only belongs to you...

and so on.

is it true? maybe the fact that i am me that i am not someone else, is the only thing i can claim for myself. maybe that's the only thing that makes me unique. maybe my love for other people is unreplaceable, because it's mine and only me. looking in on myself, seeing that i am someone, an existing idea all of my own, and maybe...maybe i'm still just another person on an equal quest like anyone else trying to find myself. trying to find that one thing that makes me just who i am.

all of us have this inner cry. an endless scream that speaks to all. telling us we were made to create. We were created to create. to make something in this world that could possibly shake all.

When those creative juices are wasted, tired out and seem to have been spent - who are we then? when all ideas are just copies of the first and original painting, are we no longer special? do we ever become useless?

and what defines us...

what really makes us different than the next person?

maybe nothing i say or do is really...worth the time of day or even a big lie that my mind has taken up with a fancy, but i thought it was at least worth writing down.

yah...that's it.

kaylla.