Art

There is something absolutely wonderful about a blank piece of paper Simple at the very least, it sits expectantly for touch Its every clean inch is a possibility for perfection My mind searches its many cavities for the best way to enhance the paper- obviously inspired by its clean,plain, beauty Impatiently I put pen to paper and I am let down by anything short of a miracle The numerous possibilities and this is what I have chosen for my addition? I am infuriated by every scribble ashamed of every stray mark I grow to hate the paper and my hand for scarring it I have taken something perfect and led it to imperfection It has my struggles and myself messily stamped across its surface My personality and my thoughts haphazardly spewed onto its body I have done nothing but create an abomination to all paper I've vandalized its wisdom made a fool of its wonderful emptiness I have created a monster I have made an individual I have made this paper unique This paper is no longer perfect This paper is pain This paper is flaw The paper, well, this paper is art.