Pablo P

Pablo Picasso was called an asshole
like,
eight times a day
– sometimes thrice before breakfast.
From birth,
this unjustifiable prick
would lord his magnified genius
over the rest of us,
redefining art itself
sometimes in his sleep.
He was called an asshole
day and night,
night and day,
whether working in watercolors
or chat charcoals,
porting coke to his studio.
He was named a nasty man.
Described as a dick.
Pablo Picasso was always called an asshole.

But that’s all right.
It didn’t stop his fame
his fortunate force of accomplishment.
His announced assholery
never stopped a single Sally
from getting in his pants.
He was beloved and astonishing
despite being an ass.

I aspire to that.
I want to be a man respected
regardless of his horrible behavior.
I seek stardom and adulation
without an instant of effort made
toward another human being.
I seek to be so great
that the world loves me
despite myself.

I want to be called awful
but still, be called.
I want to be an asshole
but still be loved.
It will happen
someday.
I’ve got half of it down…