Monday, 21 March 2016




I have found over the over the years a number of men have come to me for inspiration. 

Not be conceited. 

Really and truly.

I have never been in my conceits. 

I did not make me.  

To God be the glory.  

Not that I think I am glorious. 

Men, on the other hand, like me. 

A lot. 

But I am anti-social so I keep my distance. 

That is just me. 

And if I said yes to even a portion of the men who find me inspiring I would not like me. 



Back to the inspiring me. 


I do what I do. 

And that is that. 

Men seem to like that. 

I'm not your average girl. 

I'm full of vibez and I keep it real. 

And I'm pretty. 

So the men lurk about me. 

Some in a good way 


some in a creepy, loser, stalker way.  

I ignore the latter ones. 

But I'm nice to every one of the others. 

I let them bite my lyrics and make millions off of them. 

What can I say?

My everyday talk is more than their little brains can conceive or I just state it so much better than they do. 


It's cool 


Can you say users? 

I can 

But should I just completely stop talk? 

My older sister, Paula, gets so mad at me and tells me not to say even a word. 

So I try

But my vocabulary and my way of speaking is just so totally awesome that even "good day" sounds awesome-er when I say it. 

So they bite the words that are coming out of my mouth or off of my keyboard. 

Life goes on. 

The Lord will deal with the unfair folks. 

I have other men that love to recreate me in the way they see me in their mind. 

They want to make me the way they want me to be.  

They express their desires and emotions through recreating me. 


I am completely theirs to do whatever they desire to do to me.  

Lucky them. 

I think I like those men the best. 

Men love to sing, rap, dj and/or preach to and/or about me. 


It's all good for them but I am so over their innuendos and their little hints to or about me. 

I am so done trying to decode men's songs, poems, etc. 

Throughout history certain women have had men inspired to do all matter of things. 

I would never presume to think that my reach goes as far as those fabulous ladies of the past but I am anti-social so....

Maybe if I pushed at it a little more I could inspire even more men but for what? 

So that even more men can use me in their own little sick way as I don't benefit? 

Who cares if it is I who makes him do what he does?  

I get no pay for being his, his, his and his Muse. 

They pretend that what I said wasn't what they put in their little songs, monologs, raps, sermons and poems, etc., so I do not get royalties. 

Being a Muse sucks. 

I'm a picture on a wall. 

My almost every word and picture is used for their benefit. 

Some men even look at me just to forget their miserable little lives where they are cuckolded, trapped, frustrated and disrespected, all in good fun, though, eh?


Poor frigging them. 

I feel sorry the most for that set of senior non-winners. 

They are watching me as they wait on death. 

Who does that?

Some real sorry losers. 

Maybe they should grow some.....

Poor all of them. 

They have such a very tiny part of me. 

I wonder if they ever desire more. 

Well, one day some will pay. 

And the others can continue to watch me in the night, in the day, at work, on their phone and right in their laps on their IPad at home. 

Lucky them.

I like it. 

Do you, daddy. 

A-Musing Me. 

Which is what it does to me. 

It amuses me that men lurk, watch and hide just to see me, use me and lust off of me. 

Pity, though.

I'm so much better in real life.   
Apollo and the Muses

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