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I’m tired of waking up against the wall feeling like another piece of
your gallery. My bruised canvas isn’t fading and these nails
holding me down are stuck in paint. I keep hoping this exhibition
ends and I go with it.
I want someone to pick me up and paint their self portrait on my
landscape. To wash their paintbrushes between every stroke and
thin out my fields. Build a city atop my skin with more than a bent
wrist.
Make me the mural above your bed and the thoughts in your
heart. Recreate me in your image and pretend it was my idea.


Love me like the
Shelves fell off in
Your room but you still
Want to find a place for me

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