Artist as Arbitrary

I used to wonder how

I could be one of those

Famous, infamous artists

The ones who live forever

In people’s memories

The kind that gets put in museums,

You know

Good ones. Artists that people

Want to keep!

Almost kind of

Like a family

Art and me, together

Living in happy harmony

Forever, just the way

Jesus would want.

Disciplines of a feather

Fuck guys together!

Right!

Isn’t that the saying?

Oh,

Shit,

My bad.

I guess the whole struggle part

Wasn’t abbreviated.

In the art

Or in the part

That I’m living right now

Boy, I’m frustrated

I’ve got no money

I’ve got no hope

And I’ve got no faith in anybody

Least of all me

The loser that keeps emulating

All these other people

In the hopes that maybe

One of them will see

Them, in me.

Maybe I’ll find out

What I’m supposed to be

If I just keep ripping myself open

Some more

Maybe

Or I’ll just be

Bleeding out everywhere

Like I have been for the better part of a decade

Sink or swim, right?

I sank.

Fuck.

Well,

Can I live in the pineapple under the sea?

Or will I just end up paying rent

In some knock-off peach pit

Netflix original of my

Childhood romance

With Roald Dahl

The only guy who seems to get me

Matilda kinda is me

But music is my imaginary power

It almost made me think

I could make the world bearable

Or at least

Give it some good vibes.

But nobody listens

To anyone’s vibes

And art is for

Rich people

Who see value

In arbitrary lives

Arbitrary art

Arbitrary words

Arbitrary feelings

I used to want to be an artist

But now I want to wonder why

I ever didn’t see myself

This way

I have all the heartache

I have all the feelings

Why not be an artist

Arbitrarily ?