Picasso How I hated your cubism frame
It was like my life was staring back at me
Fragmented and disorganised.
I purposely drew myself to Monet and the like
As my awareness came into the light
Those paintings seemed more of an illusion
Those still waters lurked beneath the undercurrent of intense emotions
The imagery of the flowing willow tree disguised the screams of discord
Beaming down of ray of hope
Pushing the truth to a miniscule unnoticeable shadow.
I aspire to become content but cemented in reality.
Those emotions that use to overwhelm me are forced in to the light of truth
My writing is to chronicle my journey of discovery
Its ink is truth where denial is omitted from the page.
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