Red Confetti

Had I known the significance of the departure 

I might have dressed up, perhaps put some lipstick on

and some shiny red star confetti in my pocket

to throw up into the air with fucking flair as I walked away

no longer held in place by a muse of my own poor making

convinced that the possibilities pounding in my heart 

revealed by vivid dreams filled with colorful, textured words

could only be brought into the world if my muse were present 

to guide me out of myself and onto the frightening blank page. 

Turns out the muse was a ruse made with disappearing ink

so I didn’t know I’d actually walked away until I looked back 

and saw nothing real or necessary for a full page.

I just wish I’d brought some damn red star confetti.