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



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