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Muse
She is a flawed woman
and her flaws aren't even
poetic.
She's just you and me,
a woman who mistakes face for truth,
and wears affection like yesterday's shirt.
Lost, confused, occasionally lying—
That's all she is: human.
A human who fears loneliness, so she
invites harm just to be seen.
A human who can't stand her shallowness but
when she thinks, discomfort
reminds her why shallowness exists.
She's not perfect, no—
she knows her tale doesn't end
in silence, not birdsong.
She's the passerby you see and forget;
She's the milk in your fridge silently going bad—
She's the soul you don't read,
the smile you can't catch,
the sunset by an unmapped coastline.
Copyright ©
Jasmine Tsai
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