art reflects
but only
if you let it.
sometimes arid,
like the badlands
sometimes lush,
like babylon.
try to stare
unblinking.
tell your art
you will bleed for it
if asked,
chastise your art
like an unruly toddler,
then open your arms
to the unambiguous
love that returns.
promise your art
your first born,
or at least a finger.
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