Confessions of a Muse

Sometimes, poets aren’t as beautiful as their poems:

He wrote about the stars in my eyes
About how much they shined
My crooked smile
And toothy grin
My ink-stained hands
The tangles in my hair

But he left out the parts

Where I cried all night
My tear-soaked heart
The self-doubt and the lies
Veiled by the smile
Countless letters unanswered
The mind games we played

When he wrote about me
He seemed to have forgotten
I’m more than individual body parts

When he wrote about me
He left out love
He just wanted to take me apart

Advertisements

One thought on “Confessions of a Muse

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s