Am I An Abstract Painting In A Gallery Full Of Still Life's, Or Is That Just My Ego?

Poem By Jeremy Willson

I am different, I'm not like the others, I'm unique
My writing style is an unknown technique
My soul is a colorful mess
My lips whisper tales of old, though my eyes are colorless
And though my body is frail, my veins are made of metal
My heart beats better than a double bass peddle
I am like a struggling demon who's cast down from Heaven
My life is the brush that paints the web the spiders woven
My venomous fangs bare the best of intentions
Yet the sturdy ship still sails in the wrong directions
Will this wronged soul still be able to disguise itself?
As something beautiful? Something pure? Or should I cast it in the deep dark sulfured gulf?
Be like the rest of those still life's, conform to society
It'll make things taste like salt water cause it's sobriety
Your in a Hell unlike any other, I taste honey, you taste the bitterness
Take a hold of the helm and steer into the wilderness
Our roots are buried there beneath the tree of life
Uproot me and my painting will tare from the knife
Cut me in two pieces and I'll twist into a double rainbow at a 45 degree angle
My painting will lead us straight to the Bermuda triangle
Where we'll swiftly drift afloat
The wood made from the tree's trunk will be the new boat
No matter how far this abstract painting that is my life takes us
Know that it'll never stay in one place, it just refuses
I am not a still life I can't be, cause I have an ego
If you wish to sail freely undo the ropes to the mast and let go
This abstract way my life works is a burden don't be envious
Without a painter, without the crew, I'm a blank canvas
I am nothing, like a still life without lines, or brush strokes
So I am simply death, a white clean slate with hopes
A toast then, to my painting
If you want to be apart of the abstract I am here waiting
If not stay a still life and suffer the boring, the predictable
Exist to go through the inevitable
Or live like me with a whimsical strut
That paints the canvas into something that'll make you ask what?
'Is that a bunch of chicken scratch and cat shit? '
Nope it's a lovely puzzle piece that doesn't fit
In with the others, out with the me
My beauty they surely can not see
Guess I really am an abstract painting
Cause the rest of those paintings lives are fading
Yet my painting is alive and well
Even though in this art gallery it will not sell
That proves I am different right?
See that in this water tunnel I am the light
I am not the waves that crash against us that is a fact
I'm not the still life either I am merely abstract

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