I don’t know where my muse is. I think she has always been inside of myself, but she has been dormant for quite some time. All my best writing has been from personal observation and experience, just amplified. Almost all of my writing is lonely, bitter, cynical, and snarky.
My muse is sadness. Always has been. From misery comes the best works. There are thousands of love songs, but it’s the break up songs that mean the most. When the heart is in its deepest sadness is where the best work comes from. This is why I don’t mind being sad.
He was everything to her. He was her breath, her dreams, her sky. He spoke with a quiet wisdom. Ideas that come alive. SHE wasn’t talented. It was him. She painted what she saw. His imperfections becoming beautiful. Her muse.
anon
like light and inspiration. wisps of magic that dance around you, like guardian angels but almost more important.
I already did this! Gah, i’ll go again I guess. Muse. A word that just repeats itself over and over on this website. I am not a muse d. Just kidding. Please give me a different word though.
A muse is a complicated thing. Muse. Muse. Even the word is strange. Just the fact that it is a singular word seems kind of wrong. Does anyone ever have just one muse? It should be plural. From the whole world I draw inspiration.
Claire Wilkins
The woman sat in the waiting room and mused about what her appointment would hold. Inevitably tears would be shed and anger would permeate the air. She was, after all, sitting in the waiting room of a Planned Parenthood as a seventeen year old, with no one to help her in this time of need.
My muse would definitely be Richie. He teaches me so much by the day and I find myself becoming a better person because of him. He never judges people which is something I truly admire. And I can honestly say that it has made me question myself when I find myself judging others.
Rachael
Muse, normally about someone you love, that you are crazy about. Mine? Well he’s about 8 hours away from me and soon to be further, what am I to do? I can’t do anything because we aren’t together. He says he talks about me like we are a unit or a team. How do I take that? How am I supposed to feel?
A muse is something form the Greeks, yes? I believe that it is something to tell a story threw, a sort of person who helps you tell great tails such as the Odyssey. At least by what I remember. They are girls, aren’t they? Very pretty.
Ameila
I took time to let it sink in. But not too much time. This one didn’t require my mind to sort everything out. My heart knew the answer instantly. I didn’t want to say it was a rash decision; I knew it was a long time coming. I couldn’t wait until I was sucked dry by my friends before I took action. I needed to get out while I still had a part of me intact. And I would take that small, damaged part of me and regrow something happier, care-free, at peace with life. This would be the new me, not completely changed, just carrying less emotional strife and frustration.
To her, she was his muse. She fled each day from reality in order to communicate with him, and to her nothing was ever better. The silky twilight kept her coming back for more, no matter how tired she was. She loved him. The kind of love that spans decades, continents, advenutures. And each day it was only getting better.
Ashley
you are my muse.
the center of my amusement.
you are funny and cute and remind me that i always have a reason to be happy, and that theres always time to have fun.
and that is why i love you.
Brianna
i have no image
no sweet nouns or bitter verbs
flowing from my fingers
no sonnets flowing from my tounge
no music in my heart
i am an empty vessel
void of all that could be
with no muse to light my way, i am nothing
i want to be a muse.
i want to be your muse.
i want you to use me up
and make this world beautiful.
it is my greatest want
out of anything in this world.
i want you to look at me be inspired.
more than anything in this world.
or beyond.
i want to be a muse. i want to be your muse. my want is to inspire you, more than anything else in this world.
c
Melpomene reclined before him, the very picture of divinity. With the flick of her wrist, the man was bent over his scrolls, scribbling as if his life depended on it. And perhaps it did. She knew his work. It was too verbose, words prancing across the page, pompous and flat. He never wrote enough blood to suite her tastes. So she tugged him this way and that, suspended like a puppet and dancing for his mistress. She pulled harder and harder, watching him crumble beneath her ministrations and she smiled. This is where her words would come from.
You allow me to flow. Get it all done. I’ll flee, floating beyond myself into places I’ve always desired to be. Without you I would never be able to see these places, to appricate these faces, to enjoy them to the fullest. So thank you, for allowing me to be free.
I don’t really know what my muse is. Some people say it’s their significant other… that seems a bit silly to me. I guess it changes every time I sit down to write a song. Sometimes it’s a person, a feeling… or sometimes I just see it when I look out the window.
I have to write something, anything. I can’t help but to think of you though. The way you smile when I kiss you, your hands in mine, your deep green eyes. These images haunt me through the entire night. To be with you, right now, would mean everything to me. You are my muse, my friend, my love. <3
I’m stuck. I am no one’s muse. I have no muse at this moment in my life. The closest thing I can think of as my inspiration to this life is my husband. The most hard working, rugged individual I know. He inspires me to be better . . . he is my current muse.
I was feeling alone in my art class. I was so uninspired. So far away from where my body rested.
Huddled in a sweater, I looked out the window. I leaned against it.
That feeling of timelessness when there are so many around. Fever at its peak.
“Would you be my muse?”
I looked to a familiar voice.
She made me smile.
She broke my fever with her warm voice.
“What do you see out there?”
I looked back out to where I was before focused.
Suddenly I was filled with everything in life that was sensual and it all had a word.
I whispered of forces bent on survival. A far off adventure clashing Knights and of hopeless castles. Magic and her intoxicating gift. A princess in love and her lasting kiss. A spark of light in a once hopeless a barren heart.
Desire and the most irresistible ways to say I love you.
I left my art on a single paine of glass that day.
Secrets are the temples of love.
i watched a movie where sharon stone was a greek muse. the movie wasn’t very good or good at all but i remember it because men had to give her things from tiffany’s to get her to work for them. blue boxes stacked all over room.
Taylor
I think I might be his muse. After all I thought that I was some sort of a musical vessel to him, bringing him closer to his inner artist. I have the feeling that in a few years, I will look back on this moment and think, “Oh shit!”.
momo
4 letters , 2 vowels . Idk the definition . Sounds like moose .
I don’t know if here I have a muse, I just know that this muse was wrote to you my muse, I love you, even knowing you don’t my lines keep been written for you.
Muse. Greek mythology. Homer used to listen or wait for inspiration from Muses. Muse. The musical band. I, someday, will find my own Muse. Is it beauty? Is it life, itself? Find you inspiration. Look up. Side down. Miracles.
FaridaEzzat
Thomas Fuller or someone once said that Muses love the morning
I guess I should get up earlier
I woke up at 2 PM today
Haven’t written my morning pages yet
But personally
My muse loves silence
And will visit me at any time of day
Just as long as it is completely quiet
She was my muse, sitting there listening to Muse. Long, black hair. Moving like a rushing river. What’s so wrong with love? She believed in me, because she knew she was my muse.
I don’t know where my muse is. I think she has always been inside of myself, but she has been dormant for quite some time. All my best writing has been from personal observation and experience, just amplified. Almost all of my writing is lonely, bitter, cynical, and snarky.
My muse is sadness. Always has been. From misery comes the best works. There are thousands of love songs, but it’s the break up songs that mean the most. When the heart is in its deepest sadness is where the best work comes from. This is why I don’t mind being sad.
He was everything to her. He was her breath, her dreams, her sky. He spoke with a quiet wisdom. Ideas that come alive. SHE wasn’t talented. It was him. She painted what she saw. His imperfections becoming beautiful. Her muse.
like light and inspiration. wisps of magic that dance around you, like guardian angels but almost more important.
I already did this! Gah, i’ll go again I guess. Muse. A word that just repeats itself over and over on this website. I am not a muse d. Just kidding. Please give me a different word though.
A muse is a complicated thing. Muse. Muse. Even the word is strange. Just the fact that it is a singular word seems kind of wrong. Does anyone ever have just one muse? It should be plural. From the whole world I draw inspiration.
The woman sat in the waiting room and mused about what her appointment would hold. Inevitably tears would be shed and anger would permeate the air. She was, after all, sitting in the waiting room of a Planned Parenthood as a seventeen year old, with no one to help her in this time of need.
My muse would definitely be Richie. He teaches me so much by the day and I find myself becoming a better person because of him. He never judges people which is something I truly admire. And I can honestly say that it has made me question myself when I find myself judging others.
Muse, normally about someone you love, that you are crazy about. Mine? Well he’s about 8 hours away from me and soon to be further, what am I to do? I can’t do anything because we aren’t together. He says he talks about me like we are a unit or a team. How do I take that? How am I supposed to feel?
A muse is something form the Greeks, yes? I believe that it is something to tell a story threw, a sort of person who helps you tell great tails such as the Odyssey. At least by what I remember. They are girls, aren’t they? Very pretty.
I took time to let it sink in. But not too much time. This one didn’t require my mind to sort everything out. My heart knew the answer instantly. I didn’t want to say it was a rash decision; I knew it was a long time coming. I couldn’t wait until I was sucked dry by my friends before I took action. I needed to get out while I still had a part of me intact. And I would take that small, damaged part of me and regrow something happier, care-free, at peace with life. This would be the new me, not completely changed, just carrying less emotional strife and frustration.
the rythm flows through me with the smoke… as i inhale, my mind opens to the universe… the cosmos are my muse…. haha or rather my dealer…
the muse creates a master,
a capricious being so bent on
happiness and love
that he forgets to lock his heart
she wilts at the thought of another
inside of his brain
another
lavishly kissing him with no fear
for he is a rocker
and his muse turns
like the revolving doors
at macy’s.
but i love you.
To her, she was his muse. She fled each day from reality in order to communicate with him, and to her nothing was ever better. The silky twilight kept her coming back for more, no matter how tired she was. She loved him. The kind of love that spans decades, continents, advenutures. And each day it was only getting better.
you are my muse.
the center of my amusement.
you are funny and cute and remind me that i always have a reason to be happy, and that theres always time to have fun.
and that is why i love you.
i have no image
no sweet nouns or bitter verbs
flowing from my fingers
no sonnets flowing from my tounge
no music in my heart
i am an empty vessel
void of all that could be
with no muse to light my way, i am nothing
i want to be a muse.
i want to be your muse.
i want you to use me up
and make this world beautiful.
it is my greatest want
out of anything in this world.
i want you to look at me be inspired.
more than anything in this world.
or beyond.
You are my muse. I like you lots.
Am I your muse? I hope I muse you.
i want to be a muse. i want to be your muse. my want is to inspire you, more than anything else in this world.
Melpomene reclined before him, the very picture of divinity. With the flick of her wrist, the man was bent over his scrolls, scribbling as if his life depended on it. And perhaps it did. She knew his work. It was too verbose, words prancing across the page, pompous and flat. He never wrote enough blood to suite her tastes. So she tugged him this way and that, suspended like a puppet and dancing for his mistress. She pulled harder and harder, watching him crumble beneath her ministrations and she smiled. This is where her words would come from.
When I was 6th grade, I was asked to be the “muse” of the cheer team for our Field day.
Oh memories.
You allow me to flow. Get it all done. I’ll flee, floating beyond myself into places I’ve always desired to be. Without you I would never be able to see these places, to appricate these faces, to enjoy them to the fullest. So thank you, for allowing me to be free.
Music and writings, to think about-ponder. To find amusing. To meander about in thought or word. I like the word muse.
You are my muse. My inspiration. You make my mind explode and my heart pound. And most of all you make me smile.
I don’t really know what my muse is. Some people say it’s their significant other… that seems a bit silly to me. I guess it changes every time I sit down to write a song. Sometimes it’s a person, a feeling… or sometimes I just see it when I look out the window.
I have to write something, anything. I can’t help but to think of you though. The way you smile when I kiss you, your hands in mine, your deep green eyes. These images haunt me through the entire night. To be with you, right now, would mean everything to me. You are my muse, my friend, my love. <3
I’m stuck. I am no one’s muse. I have no muse at this moment in my life. The closest thing I can think of as my inspiration to this life is my husband. The most hard working, rugged individual I know. He inspires me to be better . . . he is my current muse.
muse. writers. twain. huck finn. huck shake. mt hood. volcano. hot spot. hawaii. vacation. i wish.
I was feeling alone in my art class. I was so uninspired. So far away from where my body rested.
Huddled in a sweater, I looked out the window. I leaned against it.
That feeling of timelessness when there are so many around. Fever at its peak.
“Would you be my muse?”
I looked to a familiar voice.
She made me smile.
She broke my fever with her warm voice.
“What do you see out there?”
I looked back out to where I was before focused.
Suddenly I was filled with everything in life that was sensual and it all had a word.
I whispered of forces bent on survival. A far off adventure clashing Knights and of hopeless castles. Magic and her intoxicating gift. A princess in love and her lasting kiss. A spark of light in a once hopeless a barren heart.
Desire and the most irresistible ways to say I love you.
I left my art on a single paine of glass that day.
Secrets are the temples of love.
rose-tinted view
and satellites that compromise the truth
i wanted more
with the cutes and bruises
touch my face
a hopeless embrace
-muse
Muse like moose? Sounds like noose..
MUSE: to be absorbed in thought
im absorbed in a person not a thought
musth myj illy berid
still… zol freak th
Kieth: u o
i watched a movie where sharon stone was a greek muse. the movie wasn’t very good or good at all but i remember it because men had to give her things from tiffany’s to get her to work for them. blue boxes stacked all over room.
I think I might be his muse. After all I thought that I was some sort of a musical vessel to him, bringing him closer to his inner artist. I have the feeling that in a few years, I will look back on this moment and think, “Oh shit!”.
4 letters , 2 vowels . Idk the definition . Sounds like moose .
I don’t know if here I have a muse, I just know that this muse was wrote to you my muse, I love you, even knowing you don’t my lines keep been written for you.
Muse. Greek mythology. Homer used to listen or wait for inspiration from Muses. Muse. The musical band. I, someday, will find my own Muse. Is it beauty? Is it life, itself? Find you inspiration. Look up. Side down. Miracles.
Thomas Fuller or someone once said that Muses love the morning
I guess I should get up earlier
I woke up at 2 PM today
Haven’t written my morning pages yet
But personally
My muse loves silence
And will visit me at any time of day
Just as long as it is completely quiet
She was my muse, sitting there listening to Muse. Long, black hair. Moving like a rushing river. What’s so wrong with love? She believed in me, because she knew she was my muse.
Her bare body languished before him, speckled with sunlight, begging to be realised in oil paint.