No More Nice Things

Crayon and magic markers that never came off the walls;
paint on the carpets and doors;
knife and screwdriver carved furniture and floors;
torn and unraveling upholstery and curtains.

I beg to disagree when you scream, cry out for my side to be heard.
My request is denied; I am powerless to speak in my defense.

I’m not much of an artist now, have virtually stopped producing anything.
You will not see my creations sold in galleries international or local.
Proudly, however, I do point to a single piece in the Honolulu Museum of Art collection.
So, Mom and Dad, mahalo for letting me live while I perfected my artistic technique.

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