We are the heroes of our own stories.

Each time I hear it, it gets more radically nonsensical, but

It’s what they teach us growing up, you

Hold the power in your own world.

Like a bullet, you are the keeper of the cause and

Effect. What they don’t tell you is that there

is more than one archetype in every story.

They don’t tell you how people’s individual lives

Are forests of sickeningly impenetrable vines

Intertwining around side plots, protagonists, antagonists,

Sidekicks and the insignificant. The Extras

In the movie of your life.

We are the heroes of our own stories.

Each time I hear it, it gets more untrue, more

Radically nonsensical.

When I look at the people in my life,

I can pick through them with my fine-toothed comb

And see just who my archetypes are.

Everyone in my life has their role to play, but

What if it’s just not in my story?

The feeling turns in my stomach with a repugnant

and nauseous fury and migrates

To my hands shaking them with purposeful violence.

I compare myself to how some people in my life

Could inspire a 7 book series, and I couldn’t even

Manage to get a character arch.

I’m the background character in my own

Existence standing aimlessly on the sidelines just waiting to

Be told I’m important enough to play.

What happens then?

When your not even the protagonist in your own story.

Do you simply categorize yourself with the insignificant,

The people you’ve seen once on dark trains or busy sidewalks,

Or will they even understand the silent screams

Emanating from every word you speak.

will they even understand how you can stand atop

a mountain and explode with everything you want,

No, need to say, and get nothing cold,

deepening silence in return.

No, you can’t categorize yourself with the insignificant

Because even they can’t hear you.

If even the quietest members of your story can’t

Hear you, then who will?

I walk by them every day, the protagonists,

The ones who are the heroes of their own

Stories. They take life by the neck and will it so

Strongly to do as they please, that it complies.

My older sister is one of these people.

The drive myself everywhere, 5 am at the beach for no reason,

spontaneous with no explanation, only awkward if it’s endearing people.

My sister is a hero in her own life, but she's one in mine as well.

There are plenty of protagonists in my life, plenty of journeys

For the camera to focus on, so why then amongst

Heroism and the adventures, the drama, and the chain

reactions would the camera focus on

me?

The answer is that it can’t.

Some people draw others to them using their

words like magnets and others could scream bloody murder

into a crowded room and heads would actually turn away from them.

We are the heroes of our own stories.

Each time I hear it, it gets more radically nonsensical.