Daisy Chains {Completed}

The Football Players

They're called pain-tings because some bear terrible truths

It hurts to make them

It hurts to break them

So they're expected to hang in galleries

Where metropolitans pay twenty-five dollars a ticket to witness masochistic marvels

To sit and listen to the tragic backstories and pointed messages

Sung through canvas and clay and papier-mâché

It's just another day

When I climb the Guggenheim's slope and see you

Bright red boots and cartoon faces

Throwing footballs into a baby blue sky

Devoid of black and grey like the other tour de forces

Hanging in this gallery

Beautiful anomaly,

How did you get here?

Because to other artists, you are illegitimate

Just a filler piece painted by a happy French idiot

But what those intellectuals fail to understand

Is that sometimes we just want Andy Warhol soup cans

Instead of abstract reminders that the world is a terrible place

We have to face that fact every time we wake up

Can't a heartbroken human have a pretty picture for once?

Not every brush stroke needs to have spunk

If it's art, then there's nothing to validate

It's your own interpretation

It's important but it's not important

So it's important to remember

That mistakes aren't that devastating

In fact, some are masterpieces too

And in the midst of all this creative hullaballoo

Let's stop pretending that good original expression has to be complicated

Paint and play and sing and scream whatever you desire

Because even if it has no meaning,

It still exists

So it must have a purpose.