Paint Me

I’m like a piece of paper, just like you.

I’ve been brought into this world, not by choice but by someone else.

I am living a life with scars from my past.

Scars that do not change my potential to become anything; an illustration, a crane, a plane or anything else that is no less than extraordinary.

Scars that show that I have lived a life that is different from the one that you have lived.

Yet you do nothing but paint me into the vision of your prejudice.

Fuck you.

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perfecting the art of imperfection in the streets of milk.

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