Let them be as a still life painting
always admired, attractive, perfect,
but confined to the strokes of the real world.
I’d rather be an odd, abstract painting,
to have deep, outlandish meaning,
to hold the power of questionable expression,
to be unique to every color, line, marking,
or step outside reality
into the vast expanse of a wandering mind.
I’d rather be unacknowledged, and if
then completely invisible,
than to be a still life painting,
exactly replicating everything that is seen,
where taking risks is deemed incorrect
by the critical onlookers.
I’d rather be weird, unique, busy with colors
than inert with the confinements of the r e a l w o r l d.
If I could leap off of the earth into boundless imagination
I’d rather be an abstract painting.