If I were Frida
You would be me
If you were the vote
I’d be Susan B. Anthony
If I were a slave
You’d be being free
I am a poet
You are my muse
Maybe against your will
I have put you to use
It is a theft, really
To create art out of someone’s energy
But how can one steal
Something that’s free?  
It’s probably not easy being me
But from my point of view
It seems to be
What more could an artist ever wish for
Than such an incredible muse?
It’s rhyme
And a chaos of words
Right
And left
And mostly right
And then,
Mostly left again
All over the place
Yet so focused
Obviously not bogus
But that’s just from my point of view
I have no idea what it feels like
To be the muse
I do know, for sure
I wouldn’t be as good as you
The perfect muse