Not Art

I am not art. I am messy and don't give a shit. I hook up with boys and hang out with my friends too much and sleep too little. I appreciate bright lights and late nights. I only post the best picture in my camera roll and I am not art. I am anti-feminist and I kiss my boyfriend too hard and too much. I believe shit happens so we should eat meat and drive too fast and worry about ourselves. I am not art because I do not care enough to be art. I am an unsatisfied hot mess that you will find sleeping in your bed the next morning. I am so empty and yet so full. I take shitty pictures and hate my job and I am not art because I can't be. I will not grow up and hang in a frame in a museum. I will only be able to set the streets on fire and smash every framed-up Mona Lisa pinned against a wall because I cannot be them. I can't paint or sing or dance. I have shitty music taste because I love trap music played too loudly and the windows open with the breeze in my hair. I am rough around the edges and unnervingly soft in the middle. I am not art. My heart is weary and filled with every sin known to mankind and it will destroy you. Art is meant to make you feel something powerfully wonderful but I will kill you from the inside out and I am not art.