MY STORY POEM
There is a painter
Was born in the first day of the last month in 96.
She left a home to make many homes.
Her job is to draw
Draw an autobiography picture.
She is poor .
She lives by getting brushes from people.
She used to have home but now everywhere is her home.
She used to have friends but now everyone is her teacher.
and She is rich.
Her food is knowledge.
Her drink is experience.
Her possession are full with lessons.
People teach her.
Each person has their own skills.
Some show her how to paint
How to make things different
With two kind of colors:
Color pink, color blue.
Some show her how to draw
How to make things special
With two kind of borders:
Dark border, light border.
Some show her how to shade
How to make things extraordinary
With two kind of technique:
Blurry shade, Cleary shade.
Many things happen.
Many things appear.
Fears and tears may get her once
But not all.
Happy and lucky may come to her once
But not forever.
She fights with her own weapons:
Determinate brush, passionate color and unchangeable paper.
The poem is about to end
But the picture will never end
The painter continues her job
An adventure with nothing but drawing
Drawing an endless picture.
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