Ochre seeps off the canvas onto my skin.

Umber hues bleed like a spreading crimson rash

clogging my pores.

The painting’s intricately mangled wood frame

splinters and twists in its baroque style.

The oak border blends and carves into caramel tones.

It is a work of subtle elegance and grandeur

with soft tones and smooth edges,

yet one that disrupts my image as I’m near it.

My focus holds on the painting

and its alabaster white texture of fluffed feathers.

Yet despite the elegance of the piece,

the mastery of the work

and my proximity to its beauty,

I feel like a discarded compost husk.

A shell of an organic plant that once brought life,

now tossed to the side with little thought.

My imperfections bubble to my forefront,

blowing a shrouding mist over my image.

Thoughts are sweetened with a bitter stench

as I am bound to this art’s reflections.

Although this piece should be appreciated,

it can’t be;

not by me.

George Dibble is a twenty-one-year-old creative, who believes that continuing in one’s learning and expression is integral to a fruitful life. Analyzing films, skateboarding with friends, and writing to represent individuals and subcultures, George enjoys being involved with activities that require self-growth. Aspiring to be an editor for articles, George wishes to help others convey their thoughts and emotions in a meaningful and authentic way.