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my art

I scribble
I dot
I paint
I splotch

They're my creations
why can't I show them
Sure, they are no Picaso
But they are me

My art is different
It holds no pattern
It rarely has a meaning
But it holds my thoughts

To some, the black cup is sadness
but it is only night time
My vase of reds and blues shows passion?
Nope, thats just how i painted it

My art isn't brought on by hardships and struggles
My imagination is the cause, but it's only the beginning
my friends help me see the world's true colors
My parents teach me discipline of the lines
My life shows up on all my work

I'm know Picaso or Da Vinci
But my art is just as great
It holds the key to my individuality
But the door is my mind...



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