October 17, 2011
My art, is no art.
Entirely my own,
I create it when I’m sad,
Or feeling all alone

My art, is commanding.
It says what words cannot.
Expressing my inner self,
It is beautiful, somewhat.

My art, is confident.
It is a garden free of doubt,
Everything I do is right,
No weeds allowed to sprout

My art, is thoughtful.
Every stroke has its place,
In what I am now painting,
From a flower to a face

My art, is me.
It describes my life’s intricacies,
It is perfect in its own way,
Especially its simplicity

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