She was always different
Not in the way of the kid in class whose only friend was imaginary
And not in the way of the most popular girl, with a posse catering to her every whim
Not in the way of the student who fell asleep, leaving a lake of drool coagulated on their desk
and not in the way of the pig-tailed girl who rolled her eyes at every question asked by her piers, as though she was of a more intelligent species.
No, she was much more subtle... almost calculated.
She hid her differences to make herself utterly non-existent, persistently shedding all individuality.
We go through life assuming that everyone has similarities, to the point where the question of what makes one unique is no longer asked.
Everyone is concerned with finding themselves, and being original, that they end up repeating.
They become they're parents, who had become their parents
And so on
And so forth
Until they cease trying to achieve something greater and give into the repition of history.
It seems we are born with this engraved in our minds
She strove for normalcy, carefully hiding any small bits or individuality
any inadequacies avoided
Any different attribute was hidden behind a blank face, reading other's faces like cue cards
There are many like her, those born with the chance to make a difference for themselves
And yet, so few of those many choose to become that difference.
If you tell a square that it is a circle, it will not become a circle.
But humans are not as simple as circles and squares.
Over time, they will attempt to fit into the box you've put them in.
They choose to believe that they're differnces will limit them in this world that is not meant for them
and soon enough that box will begin to look like home.
But that girl...
She refuses to be someone she isn't.
Her life of not accepting herself has come to an end.
She is content to be herself.
I am her, and she is me. You are her, and she is you.
We are different.