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Telling My Story.

I want canvasses
littering my room
fed by paint from my brushes
and lukewarm water from my brains
I want to see a billion stories
scattered all about my walls
and my carpet, and my
Television wears a happy, painted
mask to hide his blackness.

I crave marbles
melted into breathtaking glass
sculptures, and these bodies
would watch me as I saw
them through my eyes
I crave acoustic forests
where I'll fall towards my husband
and his earthen hands will catch me-
He'll wear a happy, painted mask
and every body will watch us
lovingly
lovingly
lovingly.

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