I love to paint with my hands. Fingers. Fist. Knuckles. Palms. Nails. Thumbs. Fingertips. Big sweeping motions. Small delicate strokes. Pitter-Pattery dancing dots. Strong intense pounding. Scratching through to the undercoat. Rhythmic knocking.
Put on the music, let the world spin on its axis. No one can touch me in that place. That place where my heart touches the paper through my skin.
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