As a muse

As a muse 

I became confused 

Of what I should feel

Or induce 

To love the artist 

The way he loves the art

Is to fall in love with every

Version of you that’s allowed vigilance 

Is to ask the unseen to create 

Itself, as fluid expression 

A stream of formlessness 

Where old fables never impressed 

The compulsion to label because it’s 

Always Love 

Untitled

You ask me to be open 

A foot in the door 

To feel the emotions for more 

Than a covered up poem 

I scream terror in my system 

You say let that go, like they ain’t 

Sitting in their corners at night

Mustering up enough pride to speak 

To enclose on my natural peace 

My protective barricade parades 

Itself when I feel anxiety 

It's naive:

To think

You could 

Help the 

Hurting 

And not

Feel every

Source of

Pain

It’s naive 

To think 

It’s theirs

Alone