Unique

We all think we are unique, we
look at the shadow following us, watch us in the mirror
watching our lives play out…details
in ink and crayon, paint and plaster.

 

All of them grown from seeds planted by others, by
lives we’ve lived before…are living now, but
pretending—only pretending—to see what
we know we can’t…we try anyway.

 

We think we are unique seeing ourselves through
eyes we own, senses we grew into, minds
that evolved from miniature versions of us…all
with the intent to be honest.

 

We are the same as the life behind any door, behind
the idea that the mirror is the same only
backward…the same only not , we are
adrift knowing what we don’t know.

 

Where we are truly unique…is a place where no
one sees; silence sits on the divide where we
never go, the point where light refuses to reflect
emotion ceases to vibrate…

 

In the places we are afraid to know.

We question the price of exclusivity, the cost
of difference; cross referenced with pain, the
servitude and the habit of living subservient
lives and still still still…

 

We are not different if we can’t afford to look, can’t
describe the variance, unable in strength nor
honesty…if we try, if we try…our inability
leads us to conformity and ubiquity.

Toward faux uniqueness we agree to be the same, noting
in the book that we feel love lose want sense need have and
ultimately are the same as the next life, and
the next and next  and next and next…

 

We are all unique in our sameness and that is
life is love is hope peace happiness…is how we
create a world where difference only applies to  where
the milk and bread go in the grocery aisle
  

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