I am not the coolest.
I can't play sports, and I don't wear the finest clothes.
In fact, my clothes are stained.
Stained with smudges of permanent paint,
permanent marks of my imagination.
I may not be the prettiest, but I can paint a self-portrait
that might make you think otherwise.
I live in my art, breathe in the materials
that help me express things I cannot say in words.
It is the thing that sets me apart,
the thing that helps me blend in.
I may not be able to call myself flawless,
but I can express what I think flawless means,
with a few brushstrokes, and the comfort of my