blight

they grow so
bloated
pompous
thinking themselves
somehow above
everyone else
sharing opinions
as facts
silencing dissent
so afloat upon
their own hubris
they believe
that they themselves
are beauty and art

little fish
thinking themselves
too big to swim
with the others
mistaking attention
as signs of talent
thinking every errant
drip of paint
is a pollack masterpiece
when they are stains
dried on the side
of the pallette
blobs of color
forgotten by the canvas

the egos of these
supposed creators
larger than the hyperbole
in pedantic prose
they blather endlessly
lips coated in
cherry pits as they
spread cyanide kisses
across true beauty
in a sickening display
of artless endeavors
bloated and pompous
wanting the world
to see them as they
project thenselves
ignoring who
they actually are
empty online personas
ugly and alone for reasons
of which they are well aware

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