I majored in sharing every piece of my soul,
And baring my heart to a self absorbed audience.
They smiled and said wow,
Is it my turn yet?
I watched kids stuff shit into glass vials
And get critical praise for their integrity
And their nerve
While I tore my heart out
And glazed it with my tears.
They monetized on their waste,
While I hoarded my vulnerability.
And now I have a closet
Filled with women
That I recognise as myself,
Beautiful and frightening,
But more importantly
No commercial appeal.
When I watch the news
I see vials of shit
In the background of television sets,
In the queens garden,
On the presidents desk in the oval office
As he addresses america,
Wow they really made it,
The alumni society is writing about them
As notable graduates,
Buy their shit,
And the hoards of freshman
Smell like sulfur as I pass them by,
With notable shit hanging around their necks.
This is America.
This is why I don’t make art any more.
But you can buy my shit.