Today my muse has taken leave.
She needs to get her second shot,
Innoculating her against
The viral temptations I’ve got.

She tells me distance, quarantine,
Are vital to my solitude –
The well from which I draw my ink –
I shush her with ingratitude.

She tells me I should mask my words,
To keep my germs from getting out,
Infecting those who’re close to me,
Who chose to be with me throughout.

And yet I whine, complain, protest.
I raise my fists and say I’m free.
“I’m free to do the things I want”
Forgetting I’m a nobody.

Forgetting no one owes me shit.
Forgetting all I get is love.
They give me gifts because they care.
I cannot claim that I deserve.

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