A man could never
be my muse.
Some might have a
golden touch,
But once the night
Is over,
It never means that much.

Maybe it’s the way
they walk too deserving,
considering all the damage
they’ve historically done.
Always pinning themselves
one of “the good guys”,
Lying to your face
when they say it
While staring into the sun.

Circling back to anything
that doesn’t serve them,
Showing up to the fight
wearing a mask.
Taking what they want,
never even thinking to ask.