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There are beautiful things that we can not describe or title. There are beautiful things that don’t have an explanation, like the galaxy, and the different planets and constellations that form part of it. The diversity in races, cultures and ethnicities. Every human being is special with all their virtues and shortcomings. Colors. Yellow, red, blue and the most outstanding - black. It’s twelve o’clock in the morning. My head hurts from the fatigue of a long day. Surrounded by all these colors, brushes and canvases I feel as if I could create the most beautiful painting. But instead, the only thing that comes to life with each brushstroke is me. A self-portrait. I am not a narcissist but I cannot stop enjoying myself everytime my brush touches the canvas. Life is so hard that I ask myself if this is happiness. Arriving late from a long day of work and being able to enjoy one of my favorite pastimes. Living as a black women in this society is the worst. You not only have to confront racism because of your skin color, but you also have to face sexism as the reality of being a women in a patriarchal community. This hour that I dedicate to myself after leaving my soul at work everyday is to soften the little blows of life. Even when things are worse than normal I stand with my chin up and I defend myself as the black woman that I am proud to be. I say to myself “You don't have to be perfect because ‘perfection’ is a title based on something you can describe - and you are indescribable.”

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