my muse
finally shut her trap,
did the job
of being herself,
letting me
observe
in the quiet—
god,
the yapping
made her,
too human
it's like she thought
she was the artist.
now look:
line breaks
sharp again—
enough to keep
breaking
backs, morale,
slogging
the ten-ton-taken-for-granted
stones
up-up-up
Sisyphean hills,
still—
I miss her
jibber jabber.
Copyright © Jaymee Thomas | Year Posted 2025
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