We as humans
Are so self absorbent
We have this obsession to make everything
And maybe that's a good thing
One hand clasping a poem
And the other, the lyrics to a song
Both written by people miles away
Who's names mean nothing to you
But who's work does.
The writers didn't have you in mind when their pens spilled ink
But we have an ability to search and find
Ourselves in words
To tell ourselves that we aren't alone.
We tell ourselves to embrace our uniqueness but there is such little difference between one human and another
The human race?
We can all be generalized
And it's those common things which we run on every single day.
A billionaire. A beggar on the street.
A criminal. A saint.
We're not so different.