Why I Am Not an Abstract Painting: Day 7

I overseason my stews

I cut my bangs too short

My marathons are 26.3 miles

When the Beatles say "Let It Be"

I cover my ears

The big burgundy square

That sits stoic and polite

Cannot fathom the ways

I primp and peacock

And I will gamble for big money

Like there are ants in my pants

I blather with the same annoying, relentless march

Of a wind-up monkey clanging cymbals

But an untitled portrait of a big blue blob

Is quite succinct in its blobness

The distance between me and abstract art

Is a clear-cut field of shorn satisfaction

Da Vinci or someone said

Art is never finished

Someone just left it like that

And historically

I've never abandoned anything

My 18 year-old waist squeezes against my 15 year-old jeans

And when I let go of things

They are branded with bite marks

Like a dolphin's raked body

And I cannot be an abstract painting

Because I've never once stood back and said yes

This is it and I will leave it be

Prompt: "A few days ago, we looked at Frank O’Hara’s poem in which he explained why he was not a painter. Jane Yeh’s 'Why I Am Not a Sculpture' has a similar sense of playfulness, as she both compares herself to a sculpture and uses a series of rather silly and elaborate similes, along with references to dubious historical 'facts.' Today, we challenge you to write a similar kind of self-portrait poem, in which you explain why you are not a particular piece of art (a symphony, a figurine, a ballet, a sonnet), use at least one outlandish comparison, and a strange (and maybe not actually real) fact."