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Breaking the rules

I know it’s important.
Believe me, I tried
To make something artistic
Linking diabetes with pride.

Just paint a picture;
Just sing a song.
For those labeled “creative”
It shouldn’t take long.

My grandpa could draw.
Excelled in Arts High, he recalled.
But the family gene that links us
Is not artistic, but bald.

But my circles are oblong,
My paintings all stink.
My hands don’t know precision,
Though my mind sure can think.

I can’t dance expression
No rhythm in these hips.
I can’t tickle the ivories
With these scratchy fingertips.

The rules were quite open.
Use clay or use paint.
Multimedia permitted
But simple prose ain’t.

But words are my artform
Nouns are my brush.
I embrace punctuation.
Verbs give me a rush.

My attempts to make art
Drew a blank, sad to say.
It seems use of language
Is my artistic way.

Please forgive my disregard
Of the rules, clear they be;
For instead of drawing diabetes,
I just wrote about me.