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subliminal


 

I want to make art, she said

Casting her wishes out into cold air

Dreaming of a studio full of beautiful creations

in which she can express her true desires 

Yet what she does not understand

Is that she, herself, is art

In the truest of forms

 
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Comments (1)

kpark4
<p>This poem came to me one day while I was sitting in bed. Hope you enjoy it (:</p>

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