In this ridiculous
cynical world
can two people be each other's muses?

despite sketchy moves, drawn to each other
mixing like a drink at a pretentious southern bar
written as a thought-provoking short story

with a sudden ending.

Is there a way for the person I write about
to be out there, thinking of me?

Making his own version of poetry?

I need a teacher
to tell me that I'm great
at this writing thing
who will give me constructive criticism
and As
and gold stars or something

Or I at least need a teacher
to tell me that I'm terrible
and should revise
and demand more of myself
and hit the delete button
and do something else with my life

But now that I'm the teacher--
...how do I get better?

Why is it that other people's impressions
mean more than any reflections
ever have?

We need to talk

He said as I sipped wine in a bath tub
all while being watched by my cat
after a good work day
Feet don't hurt
at all.
Purring.

We really don't.

Cerci Lannister.
Hiding nothing.
T-shirts with no bras.
Disney princesses.
Gay rights.
Doing what I want.
Black rights.
Sunglasses.
Women rights.
Moving out.
Saying what I think.
Breaking up with him.
Human rights.

Middle fingers.

Belief in self.