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Katie Stam Mar 2014
Go to an art museum
Pretend you understand
Nod along with what others are saying
Because otherwise you'll look bland
Though the colors on canvas means nothing to you
Everyone else seems to get it
Your legs grow sore from standing around
You decide to rest for a bit
Oh ****, that bench was actually art!
What a mistake you've made
The staff tensely continue to glare
You wonder how much they get paid
Naked women adorn the walls
And prepubescents giggle
That one creepy painting is definitely staring at you
Uncomfortably, away you wriggle
Though the art museum is a cultured place to go
By the end you're always miserable
At least next time you'll know not to buy 15 dollar coffee
And remember that flash photography is unforgivable
Katie Stam Mar 2014
I should apologize?
I think you're the one who should.
Though you're such a stuck up brat, I know you never would.
Maybe you'd say your sorry once I told you how I cried when I got home?
How my little brother saw me sobbing, and I couldn't tell him why when I got home?
You'll never know how awful it was, and that's the part that kills me.
I want you to feel mortified, ashamed, I want to tell your entire family.
You shouldn't be able to sleep at night, thinking about what you've done.
But it wouldn't be over yet, I wouldn't have had my fun.
I'll tell my friends, your friends, all of creation!
I'll never feel alone again, not for my life's duration.
But I know if I told you, you would only scoff.
Make a joke out of it, you *******, you would just laugh it off.
So I haven't told anyone, it's a secret between me and my journal.
For now, I guess, I'll keep the pain internal.
My first poem.  It's a bit of an angry one.

— The End —