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Canvases
The canvas is complete, but I want to keep painting. There are more canvases to the side, but I don't want to scar them with silly little lines, not like I did with this one.
If all my canvases were painted with lines, people would eventually see them. They'd question and stare. "Why?" they'd ask. "Why lines? Why everywhere?"
Those canvases I started to paint, why not complete and cover? The paint can stack, but it will all crack; those past old scars will still show. People would still know. They make me feel attacked.
The canvas can't wash clean, and neither can the scars on me. Paint, I did in the past. I must learn to love my art, myself, at last.
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This is a poem I wrote during a time of struggling with self-harm. This may be triggering to others who have struggled or currently are. Please know that you're not alone.