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.
Mike's Manic Word Depot 
you have the copy right! Thank you for sharing the all inspiring her and the you in ugliness and beauty and the bits in between.
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thank you for reading it all.
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Yea i am super surprised i am not sick of it yet. (I get bored easily so….) I supposed its like reading a love novel in poetry form.
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I can see that.
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