I Am Not…
A poem lightheartedly exploring identity and existence, celebrating the fluidity of thought and the joy of imagination.
This poem is part of the NaPoWriMo 2025 challenge to write a poem a day in April. This is the prompt for April 7.
A few days ago, we looked at Frank O’Hara’s poem in which he explained why he was not a painter. Jane Yeh’s “Why I Am Not a Sculpture” has a similar sense of playfulness, as she both compares herself to a sculpture and uses a series of rather silly and elaborate similes, along with references to dubious historical “facts.” Today, we challenge you to write a similar kind of self-portrait poem, in which you explain why you are not a particular piece of art (a symphony, a figurine, a ballet, a sonnet), use at least one outlandish comparison, and a strange (and maybe not actually real) fact.
I am not a Botero painting, for I am not a plump lady with arms like tree trunks nor a visage that blooms like a ripe peach, sitting in a sunlit plaza, gathering the gazes of passersby. Instead, I am a wisp of smoke, dancing between the cracks of reality, a thought that slips through the fingers like sand in an hourglass. Imagine a world where armchairs are made of jelly, and every time you sit, the room giggles, as if it knows humorous secrets too deep for mere mortals to comprehend. I am not a Botero painting, because I don’t have the weight of history anchoring me to the canvas, like a ship that refuses to sail, even on the most tempestuous seas. Did you know that in a hidden corner of the universe, there exists a species of turtles that can recite Shakespeare backward? It’s true, or so I read in a dream that felt all too real, where thoughts wore spectacles and danced on the edges of reason. No, I am not a Botero painting, not confined to the whims of proportions, but a gust of wind, a fleeting moment, an echo of what could be, tumbling through a world where jelly chairs and scholarly turtles are the fabric of existence.
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So wonderful 💖