Somebody's Art Studio

It's about HIM,

the lover of art who melted the heart.

With him I dived and thrived,

even knowledge and life became bright.

I strived for a bite

of an apple he drew once under the moonlight, 

oh, how fabulous were those neon paints in the middle of the night.


I asked him to spill me a cup of glitter,

to spray my face with a yellowish color

and let me dream.

I asked him to put away his slush, 

to grip my hand and teach me how to hold a brush

and let me brag.

I asked him to sink me in the colors and let me drown,

to pour on me the red, the gold, and then the brown

and let me draw a crown.

I'm seeking to declare him the king of my inspiration town.


His art studio keeps me alive,

it keeps me warm, insatiable, invincible, and full of vibe.

It is the cave where I find a refuge to hide

and escape the toughness of life.

It is where I can have an imagination that doesn't embrace any strife,

where I can visualize my hopes even when being blind.

Sleeping on the stacks of art pieces is a comfort and cure combined.

This poem is about: 


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