©I.M. "That Girl," Inure Muse
Hi! I'm "That Girl Muse," author, artist, muse, poet, surrealist and spirit guide, who uses creativity as a means to heal the mind. Each poem's a lil' bit of Inure Muse's story @Find_the_muse & support my work. You can also book me online!
Before we go any further, Friends...
If you're trying to be friends, you should probably know this. If you're here to play, like you like me, just to snake me, or roll me over, like weed in a zig-zag spliff, let me tell you this, you should probably desist. Because actions with malicious intent, towards me, will get you dismissed; in addition to making me pissed.
I started a joke...
"I started a joke, which started the whole world, crying." I'm listening to this album and the lyrics aren't lying. This song sounds like the soundtrack of my strife. And, I just want to thank the Bee Gee's, for giving me a title, for this poem... And for saving my life.
What is identity?
What is identity? Well, I think it's being exactly who I want to be. A pretty rainbow; a colorful, strong, poised, beautiful arch. A free, lucid, living creation of the cosmos. Identity is your spirit, uncaged, unbound...free. That is, without society, or labels, to categorize or define me.
Yeah I'm that girl
I'm a gem. I pride myself on the fact that my character, beauty, strength, and mind, are nothing like the rest of them. I am unique. I don't roll in packs, like wolves. Nor, do I follow like sheep. I don't use my body, like a spliff, and pass it around. Nor, use my mind, like weed smoke, and my rastaman vibration, as currency, to earn my keep.
It's a New Year!
I'm not going to repeat the same mistakes as last year. I'm going to be positive and determined. Goal-driven. I'm going to be careful not to let myself fall for the same old type of person. Or keep the same old type of friends. I'm going to value my mind, and meditate, often and devote myself to self-care. I'm going to mend broken bridges with family and possibly, friends.
I love the sweet, savoring, muscle, of the tongue. It begins as a conversation. And then, rubbing on my lower back. A strange, and unusual, sensual, sensation, arouses an erotic vibration. Which, escapes me, in a low moan. Followed, by, their, groan.
He told me...
He told me that he could speak french, on all the parts, of my body that could speak back. I didn't slap him, because the comment, was slick, as fuck, I could admit that! I wanted to, let him taste me... make my head tilt back. Let him, start at my neck and "work his way down, that beautiful ____". I couldn't help, but, blank out, as he was telling me that.
It's Funny because,
I was standing, in a line up, at the doctors, office. I was talking to a woman who had just charged her way up, a herculean flight of stairs, and was now huffing and puffing, anxiously trying to regain her breath. I stared at her, for a moment, and then spoke, in friendly, yet cheerful, tone, exclaiming,
I want you to tell me, what you know about, "that life?" What do you know about, loss, and "true pain?" Living at the corner of Front street, under a bridge, sleeping on a construction fence. Resting, next to junkies, and addicts, because they were the only one's, to help you, when you were abandoned by your 'friends'.
I am a poet. A breeze of emotions. Nothing but words, feelings, and expressions, drip, from my eyes, like tears. Sometimes, I even feel like, I've wasted, some of my best years. God! I wasted my love, on the dead, and let the lies of false lovers, fill my pretty head.