Starving Artist Sale by Polyxeni Angelis

I hang in a makeshift gallery,
I think of Jesus, how he was on the cross,
a portrait in reds and browns,
like oil on canvas, his disciples adoring him and weeping,
I do not compare myself to Christ,
my mind just wandered there for a moment.
I’m not as cheesy as you think I am,
I have depth, I have moments,
whoever made me gave me fire,
and a soul ripe for salvation.
I watch the browsers walk by, and feel self-conscious,
they stand too close to me,
close enough that I feel their breath, they pick me apart,
second guess my maker’s choice in colors and scenery,
they don’t know that I am watching them too,
that I see their imperfections as they notice mine,
so I wait, and wish and hope that I belong somewhere,
then, I see him, and I can’t breathe,
Good God in heaven, I say to myself, I can hang with him any day,
take me, nail me to a wall, make me yours,
but I’m afraid my colors are fading,
that the lushness of my landscape is thinning,
he stands and looks at me with familiarity,
the kind that comes with a small grin,
he sees all of me at once, understands the brush strokes,
I’ve seen you before, he thinks,
and I see myself reflected in his eyes
and I am exploding in earth tones and glitter,
I am a strobe light, I am a disco ball,
I touch myself because I’m trembling,
think that it must have rained because I’m wet,
he can take me, save me, I’d even let him paint me over,
then she tugs his arm, squints at me just slightly,
says something about being late for dinner,
and I watch him walk away.

About Polyxeni Angelis

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