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Not Your Muse

Artwork by Melanie & Stephanie Hausberger via AXS ART

After Paula Meehan

You know it’s true; I’m not the girl
to try writing through. I’ve got hard eyes;
I wake wishing I walked like Venus,
but fall short of born sweetness;
there’s no one to worship me when I rise,
and I’ll never be taken for an ocean pearl.

I’d need a temple to stretch-marked hips,
or a choir that sings to unexpected bruises—
flaws my eyes will never swallow.
Surely, you see my thin lips;
I fall short of glorious. My mind refuses
to love the pattern my body knows to follow.

I’d ask a woman wiser than me,
no longer twenty or quite so flighty:
How did you turn from his siren song,
the one I’ve been moved by for so long?
You wouldn’t be wrong to accuse
me of watching men as they muse

over her whimsy, or her wild way.
I watch as I go, all these painted
girls in every foreground. They drown
in flowers, and there they must stay.
Tell me my image is untainted—
better, for never bending beneath a crown.

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Erica Macri is a 21-year-old writer studying English and Economics at Boston College. She is a New Jersey native who has always felt like she has one foot in New York. Erica has an affinity for redwood trees, window seats, and dogs of all sizes.

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