Did you only ever want the painting, and to throw me away? Maybe the muse isn't always romantic.
I once was a muse
for a stranger. I didn’t know
what to do, so I chose to be oblivious
I sat frozen still and complacent. I became a
canvas. I was made into art. And I felt so beautiful.
Adored, for a moment. An object of intrigue.
A worthy subject to study. It's not often that
I am seen. It may have been arbitrary.
It's possible it was just
coincidence But I’ve never
been one for pedantics or
reasons. I just wanted to see
what you made of me. But of
course, you put away your
sketch book, the train
stops and I leave and you say
nothing and I'm so scared of being
wrong, despite your glances, despite the
sketchbook, despite the portraits
lined in its pages, because the
unknowing is better than
thinking i’m more than
I am.
Did you only ever
want the painting,
and to throw me
away? Maybe the
muse isn't always
romantic.
Hopefully,
you'll understand
this
too.
Jaidah-Leigh Wyatt is a Canadian-Jamaican writer currently studying film in university. She enjoys anything horror-related but has also been delving into absurdism and surrealism of late. Overall she aims to create works that challenge your perspectives and changes your views. Whether it be writing, films, or drawing, you can always find her working on something (or so she says).
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