Amongst the worst feelings in the world
are an ex breaking your heart apart,
catching a terrible winter’s cold,
and people misunderstanding your art.
Like when they think you were being deep
when all you wanted was to be cute,
or when they use unrelated details to
try to categorize you.
Or when they describe your work in a way
that falls in your definition of kitsch;
those are the moments you wish
that your art just didn’t exist.
If I were an artist the last thing I’d want
is pieces of me hung up on a wall,
for city folk to pretend they care to feel elite
while kids on field trips stroll by half asleep.
If I were an artist that’s the last thing I’d want.
Especially if I’d long passed away.
For such tragic misconstruction of my art,
I’d like to at least get paid.
[Photo from The Boston Globe]