"I'm a good writer" I stated
And asked for triumph and fame.
The Universe got frustrated
With this vainglorious claim.
It thought to teach me a lesson:
Got me enslaved by a muse.
Who is a curse and a blessing,
A gift I cannot refuse.
She guides my pen on the paper,
While putting thoughts in my head.
There is no way to escape her.
Although she's driving me mad.
Her whisper runs through my veins.
Her cry reflects in my beat.
While she both fills me and drains,
Without her, I'm incomplete.
As she decided to nestle,
One cannot pull us apart.
She uses me as a vessel,
To every page of my heart.
I cannot leave her or fight her:
She stole my soul to engrave.
But if she makes me a writer,
Then I'll be gladly her slave.