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 ?