You really are a masterpiece
Were you constructed by Michelangelo?
Da Vinci? Picasso? Monet?
You’re a work of art unlike the others.
You were sculpted with kindness
You were painted with grace and beauty
Shaded in with a mothering quality
Molded with greatness.
I see it coming, however
Jealous artists, whose masterpieces crumble in their hands,
Nothing like the perfection you possess
Their clumsy hands unable to produce greatness
I see them coming from afar
Armed with paints, hammers and glue
Terrified, I clung defensively to the art I had come to love
But they showed no mercy for either of us
Blood pooled on the floor
And I could only stare in horror
With a swing of a hammer and a swipe of a paintbrush
A monster had risen from the masterpiece.
When all was said and done
I looked up at the defaced work of art
And it stared at me, stared long and hard into my eyes
“This is your fault. You turned me into this.”
“No, I swear, it wasn’t me!”
No matter how hard I screamed, it was no use
The masterpiece toppled over, and with one last cry for mercy
The masterpiece destroyed us both.
