(Authors Note: Considering I wrote this to TheFutureisBright, it only seems fitting I post it here. More to come)
My muse sits waiting for a reply
Prose inspires her, though she wonders why she tries
When it doesn’t make sense
I’ll take your heart and watch it burn
Critic of all you’ve ever learned
Cannot the one who inspired me be free to write what she loves?
And every night there is a cry
Must follow criticism
You want to be different?
Then ignore them
Compose, create, write what you love
I can see it in every word you type
You were the one to inspire me
So I create this symphony
You don’t know why you sit there
Composing things others hate
And you dislike
Lovely and hardly seeing it, you listen to unique bands, drawing your landscape of the mind. People secretly admire you, though they don’t say it and it kills you deep inside. Wondering if you’re mysterious and fascinating you sit with a pen in hand first, scribble down a few lines of awkward, messy prose.
You are the rebel without a cause and because you are, it terrifies you
Aren’t all rebels supposed to have reasons?
No. They rebel against the system because all art, as a beat cowboy on a motorcycle stated is a con. JaberwockyJaberwocky!
Why is a Raven like a Writing Desk
The Raven is the muse and it sits and awaits you
Poet of confusion that you are, lovely in every syllable
Far too many thoughts>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>AHHHHLETEMSTOP
Cannot more than one way be the way of the path
Sex throughout written word, is your poetry
Rough, hard to grasp, but love fully
And so, muse, I await your next beautiful creation
A walking matchbox for my fire.
You think you’re a bad poet
Face it child
No critic of another’s written words could ever be a writer himself
This is your life, the future is bright, as you wrote
Gulp it in child
This is your calling, this is your life.