My muse wears a pink tutu, cusses profusely and REALLY likes to watch porn. But she’s the most intelligent, articulate and ethereal being I’ve ever met. She’s a rebel. She’s a heretic. And she’s magnificent.

Every so often she bursts onto the scene bringing a presence of euphoria, comfort-zone slashing thoughts and embodies the truth which permeates every pore on my body. And then there are times she comes to me while dreaming. That’s where I see her most often. She perches upon my shoulder in my lucid state and shows me things my conscious mind is unable to comprehend during the daylight hours. When my eyes flit open at dawn, she rests upon my soul, higher above and much deeper my physical form, with a comforting warmth and bright light.

She challenges my emotions, my beliefs in the significant and no-so significant. A battle of whits sometimes ensues between her and my bratastic ego. Those two broads can make a 6 deep feline-fight look like a party. When my ego wants to latch on to fear and build walls, she will tug at my heart and will ask of me, “are you missing something, Mercedes?”

There are days I fail to listen, there I days I choose the easy path, the lonely path, the seemingly safe path. But safe it is not. For that path strips me of compassion and replaces my being with torment and a hardened heart. My gaze is tainted with a colored lens that is jaded, cold and void of connection.

And then she whispers to me…

Here am I

To guide, to invoke

To ignite a flame, to enrapture

Stripping you of illusion and crutches

Breath and vitality fuse

You are goddess, soul alone will you shine

For I am you, until stars fade

Betray me not, my luminous voice

Grasp the existence which compels 

Only then will verity reign


And when she brings me back to a place of oneness, I feel like putting on red lipstick. But then I don’t.  I’d just get it all over my teeth and make it really awkward and embarrassing for everyone around me. I may be pretty, but I’m far from proper.