My Muse Trixie Makes Fun of Me
my muse is plotting every inch of my time today
I try to escape but there is actually no way
on writing poetry and fiction, she is hardily keen
I cannot refuse Trixie, for she is insanely mean
no prepositions, she orders me in a stern way
But verbs and adverbs are okay, for they are merry and gay
On a pristine white page Trixie writes the rules down
She adds that I am a goof pot, a weirdy cat and a clown.
I would like to escape Trixie, but she’s solidly in my head.
She plants ideas in my imagination while I’m in bed.
Hey, Trixie, don’t you have an uncle or cousin to go see?
She laughs at my anguish, making more fun of me.
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