We stepped on a landscape beneath the scorching sun,
While I took out my paintbrush, you took a photo and announced that your purpose is done,
You told me you'll be at the canteen because you don't like sticking around,
I just nodded and lowered my head down.
We visited the museum and some of my friends said,
"You really are so lucky because you found each other's match that is also an artist"
I faked a smile and swallowed my words, pretending that I didn't hear you say
"Half of these paintings are meaningless" while we're inside a room full of works with amazing stories.
I also heard you say in one of these rooms "It wouldn't be so hard making this sculpture"
Ironically, you are a so-called art blogger and your art is in the photos you capture
Yet you criticize art like you're some shallow commenter.
You claimed yourself as an artist
But a real artist is not a money making beast.
I was so caught up about the idea of having someone who's so much like me as a lover,
That I didn't examine if it is authentic or just a surface cover.
Yet after that trip, you held my hand and you told me that I'm a masterpiece
It doesn't seem like a fitting into my jigsaw puzzle piece.
Because, something that doesn't belong should not try so hard to take part.
Honey, what would you know about a masterpiece if you were never into art?
YOU ARE READING
Dolor: Poetry of the unspoken
PoetryCollection of original poems as a way of expressing the author's unsaid thoughts and emotions. A coping mechanism of regretting the "what if's" and haunting forethought. Note that all the poems published are originally my work. Do not post it in an...
