#NaPoWriMo Day 7: Why I’m Not A Portrait.

Can you imagine?

Stood in the corner of some museum,
Like an insignificant fly on a wall,
Trapped in gilded frame from an era bygone,
Magnificent, aging with grace,
Behind peeling, yellowing layers of varnish–

And the curator doesn’t even know my name?

Then there are the weirdos and wannabes,
Dissecting my very origin in front of me,
Guessing what acrylic was used in 1653,
While my frame stands beside some old Raja or Rani…
Wait, do they know which artist painted me?

Can you imagine what it’s like being me?

Someone must’ve commissioned for me,
In hopes of preserving a memory,
But I stand here while years have passed by,
And nobody knows my history;
That is, beyond what my expression might mean.

No, you do not want to be me.

Watching people walk in and out all day,
Like never-ending piles of laundry–
They have the same thoughts and theories,
Nothing ever struck me as unique,
Except for the ones that wonder who loved me?

What, or who, really made me, me?

They talk about me like I’m old cheese,
Getting worse for wear with time,
But there are some who appreciate me,
Comparing me to aging wine,
While I stand there with my frozen smile.

Can you tell there’s more to me?

Unable to speak, unable to eat,
Just watching the days blend into nights,
And the only ones who know are those that studied
Beyond the surface that they have seen,
For portraits are never easy to perceive.

Perhaps some can imagine being me…

I wonder if they ever think
If I was ever just someone ordinary,
With hopes, and dreams, and hobbies,
Like we’re the same person from different times–
But really, why would they?

After all, not everyone wants to be me.

They say even the finest of portraits,
Are off by at least seven points;
I might not even be the person they see.
Being trapped in a frame, watching people go by
Doesn’t sound like a lot of fun to me.

It can be exhausting being me. 

~© Shubhangi Srinivasan

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This has to be a personal record or something because I don’t recall writing a poem this quickly, ever. Maybe it’s because I have done a fair bit of growing up since I stopped writing last year. Or maybe it’s because I stayed away from creative writing for so long, telling myself I didn’t have it in me anymore, that the poet in me decided enough was enough. Well, she sure showed me! I keep surprising myself, this NaPoWriMo season. I’m sure you’re tired of seeing me say that on every post so far, this year, but it’s true. I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe I’ll do even better in the days to come. Who knows? We still have twenty-three poems left to go!

Anyway, today’s prompt via napowrimo.net was to write a self-portrait poem with silly similes and made-up historical “facts” talking about why we’re not a piece of art. It’s similar to the prompt we had on day 3, which was a poem talking about why we’re a poet, and not any other kind of artist. Here’s my take on that prompt, titled ‘What Am I Doing Here, Anyway?‘

Today’s poem is inspired by the feeling that we’re trapped in a place, made to watch as people walk in and out of our lives, as they try to dissect you in all the wrong ways without ever trying to see who you truly are. I feel like a lot of people my age go through it; the constant fear that we’re ‘behind’ in life, or losing out on time because multiple things are happening to the people around us. When I voiced my fears to my best friends, last night, I got a nice reminder that we’re not trapped or stuck, or behind. We’re making progress, but just not at the pace everyone else is. And that is okay.

So, here’s to a little bit of existential dread on a random Monday.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Yours truly,
The Shubhster.

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If you like my poem, please do leave a comment or follow my blog! I write a lot of random but interesting stuff, and I try to keep it real. If you think someone you know would appreciate the things I write, feel free to share my page with them! You can also reach out to me on my Twitter or Instagram handles. I always appreciate seeing new people come up to me and tell me they like what I write! It doesn’t happen as often as  would like for it to, but let’s change that, maybe?
This has been day 7 of 30!
See you tomorrow?
Cheerio! Xx

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Featured Image by brooklyn on Unsplash