If Vincent were a mental health activist and a slam poet.

Who gave you the right to dub my night depressing
or fill my stars with hope?
What if the dark is my time of rest and the
shimmers of light, a distraction at best?
Who asked you to call my cypress, the foreboding of death?
When they are as commonplace in my topography as dying is to breath.
Who allowed you to question if the village truly exists?
Have you seen my view, from my window, as I have seen it?
I am the painter amongst us, and yet you painted my work.
Not with my characteristic strokes, but with discrimination at its worst.
And so I ask, who gave you the final word on madness?
What if it is not how I feel in my head but what you make of me in yours?
After all, when I handed my severed ear to the light-eyed one,
I didn’t scream of pain but she screamed of shock.
Who is mad then, her or me for being so appalled by my tragedy?

Questioning the various interpretations of the painting that have been made in light of the painter’s mental health.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Starry_Night
https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/art/news/vincent-van-gogh-reason-cut-off-ear-a7388656.html