Fucking muse

you’re all so glad
my muse is back-
good for you, you say
congratulations clear, and I think
fuck you.
I don’t want that bitch.
take her off my hands.

but she stays, she sits
shoulder to shoulder
watching every word I type
criticism in her eye, intent clear
as she nudges me aside,
takes over the keyboard
and does her own thing.
fuck you, I think,
watching her control my
every single fucking word.

fucking muse. you’re all so glad
and I am angry
I am so angry
she deserted me: where was the muse
at three am those dark dark nights
where was she when I was lonely
where was that bitch when
I needed a friend, when I needed
something to hope for.

gone.
and she shows up now, smiling,
like she’s my sister, like she’s my
self, like she’s never been gone
and I can’t face her.
I am so angry, so full of rage
fucking muse who comes and takes
takes
takes

I want control of my life, you bitch
where’s the switch?
the goddamn switch to turn this off
because I know that you will haunt me
until I bleed words for you
until I exorcise all the demons through
the little tiny letters. fuck you.
where were you when I needed,
wanted to write, when I cried
for the lack of poetry inside.
where were you?
and why now?

fucking bitch. in the end
I know I’ll fucking whore
myself for you, turn over the whole
self to you, turn away from everything:
one more minute
one more word
must give more time to the page
walk away
don’t talk, no noise
please! just one more,
almost there

fucking muse. what will happen
this time when you’re done with me?