That Band
So, here’s my secret:
after the fall of that band
I could not consume
art for months (at a point,
I wondered if I ever would
be able to again).
I moved around
my apartment to silence,
all I watched on TV
were cooking shows or the nightly news.
I only read non-fiction essays and articles
or news stories.
Slowly, I let art
back into my life,
but not artists.
Even now, three-quarters of a year
later, I can barely stand to listen to
artists talk about their art.
Not on radio, TV, nor podcasts.
I won’t read interviews of artists.
I don’t want to hear it,
I want to push artists away;
consume their art, but from
a distance.
At this point, I still have to separate
the art
from the artist.
(The betrayal still cuts
deep. And I was just a supporter.)
I know it’s not fair
to the good, the decent,
the caring artists.
But I think my heart
is still hardened, caged in, as protected
as I can make it,
at this point.
Maybe someday
I will settle
and be able to let
artists in again.
