Written on: July 2014
Revised on: January 2024
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In the gentle haven of a canvas pure,
A daughter waits, innocence to assure.
Blank and white, untouched by design,
Her spirit yearns to break free, to shine.
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A mother, the artist, with hands adept,
Weaves a narrative, tightly kept.
Manipulative strokes, a control so sly,
But within the daughter, rebellion does lie.
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"You were the artist, and I was your canvas,
Pure and blank, a space vast and boundless."
Yet, smudges she makes, in hues of defiance,
A rebellion against the restrictive alliance.
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From each smudge blooms a color anew,
A palette unique, vibrant and true.
The daughter, a canvas, resilient and strong,
For in her rebellion, she discovers where she belongs.
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In the dance of colors, a tale unfolds,
Of a daughter's journey, strong and bold.
From the mother's constraints, she seeks release,
Creating a masterpiece, her own path to peace.
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From thought to thought, her future awaits,
A canvas transformed, breaking old fates.
In the smudges and colors, a sentiment pure,
A daughter's freedom, her own allure.