The White Horse With A Pink Saddle


She asks me for nothing.
I give willingly.


How many times will I repeat to myself “I don’t care!” before it becomes true?
How much do I need to say “it doesn’t matter.” until I forget that it does, terribly?


I ask her with no compassion,
look at her with beady eyes.
She is my muse.


The others think me cruel.
It’s none of that.
I just have no emotional involvement.
Can you see the difference?


She asks me for nothing.
I give her that.


She asks me for everything.
I’ve given more than either of us can handle.


05:12 AM Tuesday, February 16 2016. All is well.

I never forgot the way I looked at her and didn’t blink.

“Good Morning. How did you sleep?”