Muse is She

Muse is she with the doe-eyed stare. The look of a dreamer with glimmers of thoughts pouring out of her eyes like dandelion wine on a Sunday night. She doesn't drink the wine, she is the wine and you are the glass.

Muse is she with the unabashed smile. She used to hate the crooked tooth on the left side of her mouth, but when she smiles at herself in the mirror she sees nothing but true. Self love isn't hard for her to feel. She loves life, she loves the little things. Like the crooked tooth on the left side of her mouth.

Muse is she with the ear for the music. She loves a good sound and she doesn't shy away from a dance in the middle of the street at midnight, even when people stare and point. She throws her head back when you make a joke, even if it isn't funny. She doesn't take anything seriously. She knows you only have this life once, and she knows you never die either. She lives forever through the words of poets and writers who, at least for a moment, saw her beauty and recognized it honorably.

Muse is she who picks the roses and admires the thorns, for those can be beautiful too. She isn't perfect either, and even she has her own thorns.

Muse is she with the heart-shaped scar on her knee. Once a bruise, now a permanent remembrance of that trip to the roller rink at the age of twelve. You can grow older but the memories keep you young. The soul ages like a bourbon, the scars bring you back. She's a kid again, and she deserves to relish in her past when she needs to.

Muse is she who doesn't cut her hair for the boys, but because she decided she wanted a change. Sometimes you are limited to how big of a difference you can make in your life. It doesn't always have to be big. She likes her bangs today and she liked her long hair yesterday.

Muse is she who acknowledges the pain, the beauty, the bliss, the heartache, the growth, the nostalgia, the life. Muse is she who decided to keep going, and she hasn't looked back since.