Don’t sketch a picture of me
And try to paint it as you please
Until you have walked in my shoes
And felt the rush of ants pinching.

Have you hit your feet against a rock
And bled your way back home
Have your eyes being plucked by a vulture
And still had to walk through the dark
Have you tasted the bitter leaves of love
And still taken your stand to never hate
Have you woken up with inspiration
Only to return to bed puzzled and without a muse?

Don’t take the clay in your hands
And paste it round the wheel
Until you have stared in my eyes
And seen the tears I refuse to bleed.


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