What If It Is Not Even Poetry

Why rhyme you ask? Because it is fun, it is easy, and my mind is broken. SCREECH…………………………………… Stop that! I warn myself. We have had more than enough of that. Trixie picks up a feather duster and plucks a feather There is a savage warning on her face. I cringe. Why write poetry? Because to not write it is to not be in touch with ourselves at all I say with shaky confidence Waiting for someone to bop me on the head for saying this. Trixie puts on her Groucho Marx mask and wiggles her eyes. I feel greatly relieved that I have gotten away with this thought. She narrows her eyes, and I look away. Scared. Are other people terrified of their muses or is it just me? But what if it is not even poetry? I ask myself. It comes out as the BIG question. The one I always think of, but rarely feel brave enough to voice. It matters not, I assure myself. My fans are forgiving. They will forgive me this too. Trixie begins figure skating on the desk. She is wearing a pink tutu with glitzy sparkles. We are okay, she assures me. Let's do this.