I just want someone to say I'm talented. I like it. I crave it. But I'll have it no more. It was a lie; it was always meant as a lie.
Somewhere, somehow, I began to think I was special. What was it--the praise? The applause? Or the tears? I began to assume I was entitled to the status of "outstanding". Now the ones who told me I was, they've far outstripped me. It hurts to know what a fool circumstance has made of me.
Why? I have read before, how parents who continually celebrate their children's specialness only make it harder for them to accept how ordinary they truly are. Because how can everyone be extraordinary? To only a small fraction of those who are told so, the words will come true. To the rest, it is just a truth honey-coated so thick that it's revolting when you learn of the truth.
Maybe fiction does the same: the ordinary girl or boy at the heart of the story, no different from the commoner, always becomes a celebrity by the end. How not to believe, when all the stories are like that? Love your uniqueness; believe in yourself; you have it within you, a spark of some sort. More lies.
You aren't special. You are not entitled to it. You hold your head low and keep it low, where it belongs. This is how the legends are killed, but why hope, when you know it cannot be you?
Somewhere, somehow, I began to think I was special. What was it--the praise? The applause? Or the tears? I began to assume I was entitled to the status of "outstanding". Now the ones who told me I was, they've far outstripped me. It hurts to know what a fool circumstance has made of me.
Why? I have read before, how parents who continually celebrate their children's specialness only make it harder for them to accept how ordinary they truly are. Because how can everyone be extraordinary? To only a small fraction of those who are told so, the words will come true. To the rest, it is just a truth honey-coated so thick that it's revolting when you learn of the truth.
Maybe fiction does the same: the ordinary girl or boy at the heart of the story, no different from the commoner, always becomes a celebrity by the end. How not to believe, when all the stories are like that? Love your uniqueness; believe in yourself; you have it within you, a spark of some sort. More lies.
You aren't special. You are not entitled to it. You hold your head low and keep it low, where it belongs. This is how the legends are killed, but why hope, when you know it cannot be you?
