I want to be the muse

“What do you want me to tell you?” you ask

So many things

Like tell me you’re jealous of the sun when days are bright

for always keeping me within its sight

Tell me you want to be soil and stone

to share the weight I carry alone

Tell me you wish you were a star

lighting my days when they turn dark

Tell me you’d turn into blood

run through my veins, reach my heart

Tell me you’d be the air till my final breath

living inside my lungs outlasting death

Instead you ask me again:

“What do you want me to tell you?”

I remain silent

I’m writing this poem in quiet

“Tell me a poem,” I whisper, confused,

just once, just this time,

I want to be the muse