*dedicated to my bfffe


Whenever I say that her art
Can knock the breath out of people,
She always waves her hand in dismiss
And says that others are way too great
Compare to that meek art I’m calling.

But dear, oh dear
You don’t realize it, do you?
I’m not talking about the greatness nor
The expertness it took to make those beauties.

I’m talking about the hands –
Those hands – moist and damp – that can ruin the canvas
Yet it somehow remains unscathed.
The hands that blend and mix and create.
Yes. Those cold, bare hands.

And I’m taking about the eyes –
Those fluffy eyes that fight their instincts
To rest every night
Those meticulous eyes that choose
Just the right shade of color.

And I’m talking about the mind –
That beautiful mind where unending imaginations
And silly funny stuffs exist.

And I’m talking about the heart –
The heart that burns with passion.
The heart that pours itself onto pieces of paper.

Because I’m talking about you.
Because you are the art that I’m talking about.
Go knock the breaths out of them.


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