Her flowers grew from her seed;
her poems grew from her pain.
She had to bleed to be free;
then she danced in a trance with the rain.
She’s a pain-ter.
She kisses grief on the lips
and moulds it into art.
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Her flowers grew from her seed;
her poems grew from her pain.
She had to bleed to be free;
then she danced in a trance with the rain.
She’s a pain-ter.
She kisses grief on the lips
and moulds it into art.
