All I need is a stick of graphite. Dark and black as the night sky itself, when no stars shine and the moon hides from the horrors besieging the world. A stick of power in my hands; an ability to make art everywhere and color the world in a warm, protection embrace of my passion, reminding people that love and creativity still walks in even the worst of places. A stick of graphite to cleanse my sorrows and the sorrows of others, the ability to draw my pains away. The capacity to make beauty out of but a sick in my worn hands, turning my finger tips black...yet conjuring a portrait of my want to make something great again in a place which often becomes so barren and dark, the only light being the TV screen playing a subjective news broadcast in every single household. With my singular stick of graphite, I will draw both darkness and light, truth and happiness; I will inspire, mend, and communicate...without ever saying a word at all. With my singular stick of graphite, I will inspire. With my singular stick of graphite, I will ignite change.
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