Why am I different?
Is it because I'm the third of three? Is it because I do everything I can to be alone as me? Is it because I live in the 21st Century? Or perhaps it's because this western hemisphere has got a tight grip on me. Could it be early childhood trauma? Could it be the soil that I've buried my roots in? Maybe a combination of thorns and petals? Could it be a blender of culture, religion, and psychology? Maybe I'm who I am because of who I am and in that way the answer to the question is found within the question itself..
If you want to hear the stories my brain's been drawing, please tell wake it up and give it a pencil in time. Now that I'm awake the words are asleep (again).
Fading colors feel like forced fiction.