My muse has been a relentless, pushy bitch of late, demanding that I write, throwing ideas at me with the force of a hurricane, poking and prodding every time I try to fall asleep, screaming for my attention whenever I decide I’d like to do something mindless, like zone out in front of the television screen or play a video game.
I friggin’ love it.
So in honor of the creative chaos that is now my brain, I thought I’d share this little poem, which I wrote the last time my muse went on a rampage. Enjoy!
i shut the door on you ‘cause, christ, sometimes a girl needs a little peace and quiet without words flooding her head. but you are crafty, sly and you know how to insinuate yourself through the most narrow crack in the plaster the sliver in the wall like zeus becoming rain of gold to envelope royal danae— though instead of impregnating me with a demigod you fill me with poetry and tale till i overflow words drip from my fingers ooze out my nose fall from my eyes like fiery tears scorching all they touch. and, fuck, i’d like to stop the deluge but i inside i crave it could never turn it away. it’s addictive, this raw rush of creation and i write write write write with the mania that forces the girl and her red shoes to do the dance-to-death i write, though my body is racked with exhaustion i write, though there are blisters on my fingers for there is nothing else i can do no defense to save me from your shrieks and cries i was born to hold this pen i will die clutching it still