To the members of the Union of Professional Muses:

To the members of the Union of Professional Muses:

those of you
immortalized
by American icons
who sometimes believe
in the middle of the lonely night
that love is a commodity
of creativity

who know that everyone aces
the theory
but fails the practical
of you

who stare at ceilings
wondering if normalcy
is the currency
of connection
and that to have that too
you must surrender
the wild horses of your truth
to being tamed

who have spent years
or lifetimes
waiting on loves
with checklists
you cannot fill

who have stood at crossroads
choosing between
the path to dance with spirits
or the road of human hearts
thinking there has to be
a choice

the ironic romantics
who harbour cynicism
for the possibilities
of acceptance

those who remain rejected
in a world that seduces
greatness
but marries mediocrity

who bleed words
from open veins
they mean in literal ways
but are celebrated
as fancies in return
with hollow sentiments
to amuse the fantasies
of the insincere

those who fell to earth
to cross deserts
and oceans
but cannot find their way
to being human
or entirely of
this world

those who turned away
nostalgia
and do not count
the wealth of futures
but think that living
is only in the now
you work out
on the way

those who
continue to love
no longer for the belief
in being loved
but only by the faith
of their tuck and roll

oh no
you're not alone