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I Want To Paint…

I want to paint

a despiteful, disgusting green monster that smells like a gigantic poo,

the memory of a ballerina dancing and diving through the air while people applaud.

 

I want to paint…

I want to paint…

I want to paint without regret and rejection.

 

I want to paint

a boy called George sprinting away from Mrs Trunchball as she zooms towards him,

the sound of a bomb going tick-tick-tick,

a turtle taking teeny steps.

 

I want to paint…

I want to paint…

I want to paint without regret and rejection.

 

I want to paint

a proud, loving tiger,

a cautious cat crying from its loss,

a famous, fantastic super hero.

 

I want to paint the end of this poem.

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