My Muse

​You are so different than the people I am used to. And the weird thing is that I’m not used to you yet. I don’t think I’ll ever be used to you.

You’re just like…this bubble of sweetness and goodness floating in my life. Like a fucking marshmallow. There’s no telling what you’d do next. But, it’d be something I won’t be able to predict.

I don’t know the kind of effect I have on you, but you influence me. Then again, I don’t want to give in to the influence anyway, because that is all you. It’s your thing to be nice, and my thing to be the bitch.

I never fucking told you this and hell doesn’t know why I am doing so now, but every part of you- us, has inspired me. The way you make me feel has become my muse. There wasn’t a clue how I started writing stupid poetry, but my entire archive is a gallery of how you make me feel. 

I don’t mean solely the fun, but all the anger, all of it makes a strange concoction on paper. You pull me out of the dark that I had created on my entire existence. When you do push me back, it’s into a dark I can rescue myself from,

To be honest, I hate the way you don’t give up on me, I hate the way I don’t understand why you don’t give up on us either. I don’t feel you deserve my dark. I’d hate to curse you with my demons.

You seem to be a sucker for my complicated web, sweetheart. I can’t for the life of me figure out why you wouldn’t choose something easier. But then I don’t want you to ever relocate. Just be here. Just be.

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