My creative process
Dear muse, my make-belief wife!
Blowup doll of my imagination.
What do I owe the honor
of your presence to?
My morning wood might serve
to point us both [in a]
or the right direction.
Bestow me the power to forget
but without regret. To you
I dedicate my beer blackouts
and goggles. For if I’ve ogled
let the off chance not lead to offspring.
I thank you for being able to wake
in my bed, and with all of my organs;
both vital and recreational.
May social media not play back
in an eternal loop my trespasses
nor exes blackmail me. If I have enemies,
may they be a pint or shot glasses.
Let doubts drown in drams
and drunk dialing be a thing
of bad dreams. You,
who has known me at my worst
and insists on being by my side.
Thank you for being the best
figment of my imagination;
or at least that’s what I believe.
You, whose name I cannot recall
nor ever will, although you’re not my first
I hope you’ll consider becoming my last.
Though If I were to break my promise
or lie to you perennially,
may it be for the benefit of each verse
or the reader I’ll never bother to meet.
Muse, I hope this poem
was worth all the trouble
I’ve put you through? However,
if that were not to be the case:
don’t worry because tomorrow night
I’ll repeat the whole “creative” process all over again.
