words are wasted ink like drawings.

Someone thinks my draws are depressed and show grudge, anger, sadness and desolation .
Perhaps it is true .
I never learned to draw . At school to hold the pencil on hand was something I hated .
They Always forced me to draw something nice or happy. At school you can not talk about what’s wrong. It’s the same in normal life . Everything has to be beautiful and happy and fake. You can only draw  something “beautiful”, and based on how beautiful it was, the teacher gives you the vote .
A friend of mine told me that my draws tecnically are complitelly wrong . But shows her something . I took it as a wonderful compliment .
One day I picked up a pen and I started drawing . I had never done it before. I sticked a white sheet on the wall and I started to draw on it. Then I glued another sheet and in the end I had filled an entire wall of drawings .
I believe that everything born from needing. If I look my face in the mirror I see an horrible face . It’s not nice to lie, at least when you want to express at least a very little part of what you are feeling inside.
Around me I see a reality that is not like fancy colored plastic. As fake flowers. As fake people.
Ugly person can feel emotion like beautiful people .
I see a lot of people and they are not smiling.
I see a lot of people that are smiling, but they are beautiful plastic flowers.
Probabilly when I’m alone in my room I don’t smile so often.

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