(me)anings

they

seek
to tell me
what
to feel
to think
to write

as if
it is
their

words

they are not.

if they are anyone’s

they belong
to
her

my muse.

the woman
that
i write
all of this to
for
in honor of
in service to.

they circle
around
my words
like
crows

picking
at the corpse
of
intent.

hoping
for
a glossy coat
of paint
to hide
my
ugliness.

what you see
is
unfortunately
all there is.

and my soul belongs to her.

the only good looking part
of
me
has her fingerprints
etched
into the glass.

4 thoughts on “(me)anings

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