Nothing Special

I have traveled far beyond translucent forestries
When life gave me so much and yet so little I made it work
Without turning my mind towards society I paved my own path
I walk my own road; I make my own way
But to many? I'm nothing special

I have traveled to France, Spain, Germany, and Italy
Willingly giving of myself to those who may not deserve it
Wanting nothing more than the simple pleasures of love and happiness
I walk like you, and speak as you speak
But to some? I'm nothing special

I intricately embroider pieces of paper with the hue that is words
With only a heart and mind do I make life my paint
With only intuition and passion do I make paper my canvas
I am an artist, of the ear, the eye, and the mind--
But to few? I'm nothing special

I may not be anything special to many--
I may be nothing special to some--
I may be no one to few--
But they have no importance.
So I may be nothing special--

But when compared to them? I define special

(I personally don't like this...I just wrote something meaningless and pretentious)