I’m not a muse, I’m not a rat, I will never be that

I’m not amused, nor confused yet I’m easily misused
Discarded, rejected, spit out like spoiled food

I have bad looks with declining health and there is never any wealth

I don’t get by, I rarely lie, I don’t have feelings yet I sigh
I don’t get twisted, or blacklisted, I often fail though I still try

I’ve never loved, I’ve never bailed, still I feel like I’m always jailed

Misunderstood, and broken down, I’m the saddest in the town
I never smile and wear this frown like it is my only crown

I spit out words that go unheard, my speech is hardened and mostly blurred
If I seek help I’ll be removed from all that brings me joy which is absurd

I’ve never married or divorced and I sometimes feel that is worse
If I send valentines they get treated like a curse

I wish he liked me but he don’t
Or I’m so broken that he won’t

© Delia Ross. 2019

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