My Muse keeps on fighting with me
Says that ,
I, poor I
behave like a besotted lover.
I struggle to calm him down
And ask him,
Muse, dear Muse
Why can’t you behave like other Muses?
Why can’t you just be happy being praised and loved ?
He throws a fit and
Doesn’t answer me back
Tears roll down my eyes
As I erase the lines of my poem and shout,
Fine ! Now onwards no poem for you !
He laughs at me and mocks,
Sorry that won’t be possible for you
I gulp down his remarks
And write the last poem for him
Last of my many lasts !