my muse
she’s smiling at me
smiling, but still hiding
she’s fast on her feet

sometimes she’s sitting
up there in april’s trees
plucking lilac blossoms
throwing them at me

a rain of sweetness
like honey on my lips
she’s painting in the sky
with cloudy fingertips

and the pictures she’s painting
look like worlds far from ours
she keeps me dreaming with her whispers
brushes my cheeks and temples
with her trembling wisdom whiskers

on other days though
she seems so far away
is jumping from branch to branch
and I can’t keep up
with her childish pace

doesn’t she care
that she makes me angry
and that I feel alone and so cold?
still I can’t help but think
that what I feel
is solely my own fault

because I know
at times while I am shaking
and raising piles of doubt
she’s floating down
my dire waterfall of mind
screaming drunken words
right up to me
please, voice breaks apart
please, just set me free

I love and hate her
my little polar muse
she’s gone and here
embracing me
breathing in and out
my ugly fear

a fear that I know
to be mostly untrue
because
while she’s sitting in the trees
or floating down mindful seas
while she’s painting clouds
or screaming out
there’s always
this little tickle of a smile
while she’s licking her whiskers
while she’s making me cry

a smile as sweet and bitter
as cinnamon and sugar
a smile
full of love and rage
locking herself in and out
of my golden ribcage

in synch to my heart she’s beating
on walls and tearing on my skin
my muse
you’re eating
and feeding me
from within.

Luzie Ada Welker