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A poet perhaps, but what about the poetry, I will find the calm and the chaos, pain and beauty, the quietest corner and the loudest room. Turn its art into words on paper. Poetry in people, what if I was not the poet but the poetry? What if I was the art someone poured onto paper because they could not confine their thoughts of me to their mind. What if I was the muse, the marvel. Every breath I breathe a line to be written, every emotion admired, I become the art that confounds you for eternity.