Art is ludicrous.
Art is loud.
Art is your heart,
glowing and gliding,
colliding with the limits you live by,
growing and shining,
until your heart casts a shadow,
that leaves you so sure,
that the whole world could be yours,
if you wanted it.
Art is loud,
Until Art is silent.
Until Art is complicit.
Until Art looks the other way,
and she always does,
because while Art declares herself loud,
life changing and limitless,
Art is selfish,
Art is egocentric,
Art is a social climber,
Art is a networker.
Art would like her fans to know,
that she wouldn’t work with somebody
that she BELIEVES to be an abuser of women.
Art says that she still doesn’t understand the whole story.
Art says that it’s not really her business.
Art says that he is an incredibly sweet and gentle man.
Art says he was never inappropriate with her.
Art says she believes women,
just not THAT woman.
Art keeps her feminism as a deep cut,
she only plays it at concerts,
where the audience is already booing,
because Art does not realise,
that slick production is not enough,
to cover up the crime of complicity.
Art does not see itself from the outside.
Art does not realise that every line,
lyric and rhyme from her mouth,
is replaced with a simple but sad phrase.
“I want to be famous,
and I’m willing to sell out other women
to get what I want.”
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