The inside of my head has scratched walls and dim lights. I am home to multiple disconnected philosophies and second-hand wonderings. The mirror reflection of intensely articulated words and painstakingly drawn out plots that stem in shudders of epiphany- in another’s mind.
I am a copy cat. I photograph ideas with my mimic magic memory and swirl them into new sequences to make them sound like they are my own. I emulate emotions, I retell stories, I think again. I copy, I adopt and even though I fail utterly to be truly original, I create…well, almost. And with all the guilt that veils my worn down learnings, I grow…sort of.
I rise like the flames of an igniting fire on a camping weekend, crackling with newfound energy with each piece of broken wood consumed in menacing flashes of orange. I grow to be more than myself, integrating different minds with bad sewing skills and a crooked needle, reveling in the beauty of words I did not come up with.
There was a dull ache in my heart that thickened each time I failed to think entirely for myself. The lust for creativity was too jarring for my bones and i could not accept my own cripplingly obvious lack of innovativeness. I was lost and I was bitter. Why must everything I think of have already been thought of before?
I struggled with the black manifestations of my inner conflicts in metal armor and chapped skin. I was relentless, I was desperate, I was confused.
Which is why I never realized when I learned to imprint the wisps of my own mind on the ghosts of groundbreaking ideas.
Somewhere along the line, without me knowing, my brain started leaving behind snail trails on the distances it covered, and my opinion grew more to be my own. This felt odd and vague and it was definitely a compromise.
But it worked.
So I do not feel ashamed when my scattered brain mimics genius anymore…as long as it learns to go beyond itself. There is nothing truly new in this world of cyclical traditions and rigged patterns. But beyond the constricted reality of my skull, there exist unexplored fields of evergreen thoughts and blooming ideas. Before I even contemplate planting my own seeds, I must dare to trudge in the high grasses- to take on concepts beyond simple comprehension and still have the strength to wonder about them. To have the guts to improvise.
To make things more than what they are- in a way that is, at least, completely my own.
And so I am a copycat, not much more, but none the less.