We are born as coarse blank white sheets
and each person in life we meet
fills us with their personal paint.
Our choices provide the brush strokes;
out love the emotion it evokes
in completion, colourful and quaint.
Sometimes art is never complete
but we cannot accept defeat
so the strokes become forced and fake.
With beauty I will no longer fret
I vow to just let the ink set
and be proud of the shape it takes.
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