For Her

I write because my muse refuses to let me sleep
She's a devil, that girl with flowing fire red hair
She pushes me from my bed leaving me a fleshy heap
And warns me to write or else... and a wrathful stare

I write because my muse challenges my creativity
She lounges on my couch and yawns at my troubled tries
"Why don't you get away from your cliche proclivity?"
I bury my head in frustration and she rolls her eyes

I write because my muse wraps her stubby arms around my leg
And refuses to leave me be until I have written what's good
And I surrender, knowing she's broken my spirit like an egg
So for my muse, I write and I write 'til my hand is heavy as wood

I write because when I lose my muse I'm lonely
And when I type I hear her tap at my window door
And she begs to come in to help with writing only
But she remains to keep me from becoming a bore

I write because my muse brings smiles to those that read
Because she laughs at the right places and dares to impress
And she leaves a ribbon of connection that leads me to exceed
And the writer's block I once had leaves me behind with no distress.
 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741