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Author: LucyDiamond
ASL Info:    17/F/Sky
Elite Ratio:    3.9 - 365 /575 /251
Words: 234
Class/Type: Poetry /Misc
Total Views: 697
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
Bytes: 1691


I'm not sure if Picasso was gay, but if he was...
My intentions of mentioning the two together had nothing to do with the orientation of Picasso nor Warhol's sexuality, but the style of their art. I realized after I wrote it that it could have other meanings that would drastically alter the message of my poem.



Everything I do is essentially nothing
with this absence of you.
“Independence and Individuality
are my main goals,”
I tell myself.
You can find a solitude
in being solitary, too.
I mean...
Would you really want somebody there
all the time?
Someone’s emotions you could entwine
your frightening sensitivity with?
Yes. Yes, I think I would,
And I resent myself
for having feminist inclinations.
But, I am a modern writer of the 21st century,
after all,
and a painter with the feelings
of an Andy Warhol Picasso—
brilliant, bright, and boldness
that is stuck on a canvas
and shoved under the bed for later.

Also, I don’t want to brag,
but I am the Bob Dylan of the dreamworld
and the Dickinson of the anorexic poet
starving to be something,
a real living breathing metabolizing thing.

These all accumulate
into one droplet of overpriced perfume
released into a muddy puddle of existence.
Ocean of answers?
Rivers run like madness,
sweeping me away
into rivulets where I stay
for days.
Give me something pure
enough for me—
is out of the question
I never
even asked.

So rain on my wet hair.
So melt away my skin.
So bleed me into me,
finally satisfying my blue, vein-like pipes
—broken plumbing.

that are like cacti-barren landscapes—

I do not retain the flood.

Submitted on 2007-10-31 23:26:54     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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