Poet And Muse

I write from my soul to yours
I undress my heart to show you my scars.

Crimson-tinged words need no pages
Scattering into synapse spaces.

The pain spills as blood blue ink
Dipped in the inkwell of syllabic sync.

Hold my words close to your heart
They are my soul's oxygen chart.

I am a poet who paints with her pen
To frame my page with your name again and again.


133 thoughts on “Poet And Muse

      1. You are like fine wine ageless timeless with a lot of soul in you. You fall out of the sky like a shooting star ., it’s a metamorphosis., you are a renaissance of the quintessential you. You will always shine bright.


  1. This is all so magnificent. Really enjoy these lines: “Crimson-tinged words need no pages / Scattering into synapse spaces.” Well, every line just stands out, actually. Had to read this one a few times. Everything about it was done right.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Yassy, this is just wonderful. All of it, but: “The pain spills as blood blue ink
    / Dipped in the inkwell of syllabic sync.” – wow. Magninkficent. πŸ˜­πŸ˜πŸ’™βœοΈπŸ™

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Just as we remember, we learn to never forget.

    Always know that the hardest, though also the most important person to forgive, is yourself.

    I was once in a heap of memories. I did not know my way out. I was planning to end my life. Then, I did find my way out. I crawled out, because rather than finding a way, I was digging my own grave. I was adding my own body to the sculptures that are called “ruins”.

    I crawled away that hole, and the only tool I had, which was a shovel.

    Still, I remember when I was broken.

    To call this piece, “Poet and Muse” is always what a poet does, such as when you capture pain, memories, and scars. A poet always remembers such buried sadness. A remembered face, exhumed from the grave of our minds, holds the same familiarity of that person, as it never decayed.

    Liked by 1 person

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