If people are like artwork, then what does that make me? I've been told many times by many people that I'm just a combination of people in one entity. I'm a tye-dye. I'm a quilt, patched by the seams. I'm a melting pot of natives and immigrants we call the United States of America. I am not any one painting; I am all of them. They make up a mosaic of morals and mannerisms from everyone around me, the tiles cemented together by the impression they had on me to form a single work of art: me. But I am no longer considered a painting. No, I am a mosaic. However, I am a tricky mosaic. Only certain tiles reveal themselves to certain people. Only one person has seen the entire work of art, and that is the art itself. It knows everything inside, the background, foreground, and middleground of each painting. It is a gift.
And yet, it is also a burden.
It takes all of my concentration to reveal my true colors. Being me has become increasingly difficult. Having absorbed all the uniqueness that made my mentors likeable, I have lost what has made me likeable. People know me for the other paintings inside of me, but not the one tile that began it all. The one that knew there was good in the world; that the good guy always wins. In my quest to become greatly unique, I have become great, but I am also generic. Average.
But don't doubt for a second that I'm not proud of who I am.
From being ordinary I strive for extraordinary. I will now take an oath to be the best that I can be. To always share the best parts of me with everyone. I have all the traits, all of the paintings, I just need to choose the right tiles, and discard all the rest. Start a newly refined mosaic.
Let's start by removing the laziness and the need to not give a crap that high school poisoned me with.
Motivation: found again.
No comments:
Post a Comment