The solar system is covering my hands
And bits of my face and arms and legs
I’m trying to create a place of my own
But I get stuck on the galaxies that cover me
And she tells me, “It’s just paint,”
I try not to believe her when she says it
So gentle, though, so thoughtful
That it reechoes long after it’s been said
So when I go back trying to cover the white
In the stars and galaxies and inky space,
It almost seems ridiculous because
It is only paint


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