My museum


I wanted them to see me as art

to stand in awe and marvel

at the thought that such beauty existed

but i am not a monet

i am not a picasso

and as they realized that

their attention was dispersed throughout the museum of life

to find other paintings whose brush strokes werent shaken

and whose smile hadn't been painted on 

to cover the fear that primed the canvas

I was not the Mona Lisa and I may never be good enough for the hall of classics

but this masterpiece was an original


This poem is about: 
Our world


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741