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Art Is Fake
How can I tell
it’s all fake?
Ideas get sculpted, edited, framed,
cut down to something that can be named.
A self-declared painter
choosing what to show
and what to fade.
Who are you
to make that trade?
It’s not a happy accident
where light just falls right
and chaos courteously
turns legible.
I find myself
losing myself,
drowning in rhapsodies,
illusory clouds,
more often
than in anything real.
I didn’t mean to.
But this fake
pulled me in.
Art is all made up.
It never pretends neutral.
By faking intention
it confesses distortion.
It overshares.
Raises hands.
Raises eyebrows.
It implies what you see isn’t real,
even though it’s all
you’ve been observing
with your glitching gaze.
This made-up honesty matters,
as the world lies by omission.
Art lies by declaration.
A song exaggerates grief
I didn’t fully feel.
A painting edits my pain,
coloring in the shades
I never let in,
leaving me hollow.
A poem compresses years
into a stanza’s spell,
punching my face
bloody well.
All art is fake,
like an unfiltered deal
meant to make you feel,
to mentally bleed.
So vast,
so loud,
like a careless whisper.
Too bright to be stared at raw
without a filter,
a muting lens,
as a last straw.
Art is not meant to replace reality.
It argues with it,
altering it,
giving shape
to what cannot be explained.
That’s why
I’m drawn to it.
©2026 Samia Oldman
CONTEXT
You are reading dystopian fantasy poetry collection the Hush Halo. After the Great Optimization a privileged group of people wired themselves tightly into the system by aligning with it and fully integrating. Systoics believe they’ve perfected themselves by stripping away everything that slows them down. Learn more about Realm or start from Square One.
Soundscapes and images are created with AI.
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Your reflection is really interesting, I had never thought about it! I love it! Great work, Sam!