What if I was a painting?

This piece was written as a response to someone interrupting me and calling me stupid.

What if I was a painting?

What if I was a painting?

Hung at a gallery you thought looked interesting and decided to explore?

What if I was one of those small ones? Tucked in a corner, with a small label under it to describe what the artist felt when they painted it.

Would you bother to look at me?

What if I was the masterpiece? Hung in the very middle, a large spotlight illuminating my features for all to see. What would you see?

Truth is...

No matter who I am. Big or small, you would still not look at me.

If I was a painting, you would only see in me what you want to see. You would paint over the artist's work with your own.

If I were a painting, you would stare me down and try to analyze me without even trying.

You would say things like

"It has a kindness about it"

"It's not smart enough"

"It doesn't t know enough"

"It's basic"

Wouldn't you?

And I would just hang there, staring back, my canvas complacent with what you want it to be.

I would smile and nod away what you say. Because in the end, whatever I do. I am hung on a wall and cannot speak my own words. So I will let you come in and look at me. Interpret what you want to interpret, analyze, and dissect me. Passing your judgment, and moving on with your life, not realizing the poison you just spilled.

And I know this... whatever this is.. sounds bitter. But it's not...

I'm not bitter... I'm not feeling much of anything other than exhaustion.

Because you see... I used to think I should care. That I should impress you and that your opinion mattered... I used to think you deserved to be heard. Because that's what being nice is. But I never knew that by doing so I allowed you to come and plant the seeds of bitter fruit into my peaceful garden of thoughts...

But I kind of don't care anymore.. not the bitter kind, again. I'm not really bitter. I'm just... tired...

I'm tired of you telling me how to talk, how to act, how to read, how to argue, how to be, how to dress, how to laugh, how to think...

And my favorite part is how angry you get when people do the same for you...

If you were a painting, my dear friend, Dorian Grey would have nothing on you, as your bitterness will only grow and so will your ugliness as your heart takes on what people say and realizes it cannot shout back the angry remarks they deserve and need to hear.

But maybe that's the difference between you and me?

Maybe that, for you, you refuse people's opinions in anger and protest.

While I give them the time of day... you're right I probably shouldn't.. but I do...

But, like I said, I don't need to listen to this anymore.

But wait.. what can I do..?

I am, after all.. just a painting...

A piece of art, unique and beautiful in my own right, but only there for you to recreate me in your mind.

But see... that's the beauty of it... you will think what you think... and then just go away, and I won't have to see/hear you again... you will stand there, speak your grand words, then walk out of the gallery and worry more about your mediocre life than the brush strokes that created me.

As for me? I will stay there... a painting, no more, no less... and I will be what I want to be... and do what I want to do...

Because if this painting could speak. It would yell out all its complexities, it would show you it's more than a color, more than a technique, more than an attempt at being the next masterpiece.

It would scream at the top of its lungs

"I am an idea! I am that which is bullet-proof, I am heart and soul, I am love and hate, I am black and white and everything in between, I am what you don't want to see, I am beauty and horror simultaneously dancing in a paradox called life, but you only see what you want to see so why am I even screaming?"

But alas... I'm not a painting.. but even then.. you still won't hear me...

what can I say? I'm just tired...