If The Muse Had Been A Man
By Isabelitta

I followed her around, followed her around
Always inside her head; transcribing her thoughts
Demanding she remember; she must remember her lines

A threatre muse does not allow his ingénue
-his protégée-
To forget her lines

She craved the touch of a man
My baby was so lonely
The stark, raw desire lit a flame in her eyes
And I beheld it every time her eyes chanced to look beyond the mirror
But work must come first, personal needs second
Back to the lines, back to the lines

Only sometimes, just sometimes, when I could gaze into her
Radiant face, her eyes informed me that she knew she
Subtly had revealed how she knew I existed with in her brain
How she knew I understood
The frustration, the terrors, and the guilt
Just as my fingers would reach out to
Caress her Irish pale skin and toy with the ever
Burning strawberry sunset hair
Reality efficiently summoned up my own personal demon
In order to remind me that I have no substance

God have mercy.  It cannot be endured.
I'm only the ghost of her imaginings
An image she sees when she retreats into her subconscious
-groping for insight-

Ah!  I'm no help to her this way!

Grab your script woman!  Rehearse!  Rehearse!
Don't drop your voice like that.
Stay in character.  That's better
Remember to face out.  Remember your lines.

I'm the mentor of her many roles;
Countless women inhabit her curvaceous body, passionate soul, inquiring mind, and breathtaking vision;
Quite an effort it was to mold her into that
Threatre can be so taxing

I gently chided and guided her through all of it
I tutored her
Not the lame of brain directors and professional critics
I taught her

Practice dear.  Practice.

One night she was wife and mistress and your tempter
And the next her ladyship was a Queen; powerful
If it pleased the audience she would be a 
Secretarial creator of art
She taught all who watched her, she was
Their light beam, or bringer of grief

I like to whisper counsel into her dainty ears
As she exhales during sleep
On the inhales I remind her of how I love her so

During instruction she liked to talk back
Otherwise she was silent, apart from sighs
But finally she murmured, once her courage was found,
(she always timidly spoke in her sleep)

"You're not real silly.  Go to the back of my mind."

But I still want her
I want to be a man
Her man
And leave the theatrical deceptions behind
said the muse