Poem about my need to write

this is how it feels when i let energy vampires into my creative world. and dismiss of them accordingly.

Muse

It’s shredding my insides with banshee screams.
Claws pulling down, down, down.
Teeth pressing out, out, out.

I want to be good, so why does bad feel so damn good?
Let it out, let it out, let it out,
Don’t stop now, it’s too late, you’ve started now.

It creeps out, skin shriveled with disuse,
Glares balefully, its Gollum eyes glowing.
Rising, Rising, it stretches up and out
Up and out.

“it’s goddamn time!” it screams.
“I’ve been alone in there, alone, alone, alone, y’hear?”
Arching, pointing, writhing, shrieking.

But waves of peace and light billow over me,
Pulling me up above, coursing through, through, through,
A southern current pulling, pulling, pulling.

And I know. I. Am. Free.
“Hello my muse,” I kiss, I croon, pulling back its ghastly mask,
to cup, caress the pure fresh palette below the surface.

I dive down, down, down.
And in, in, in.
And looking up, ever up, up, up, I fly free.

Morning at the Beach

The dirty concrete is blurry beneath my wheels like so many mornings before. The ocean sparkles in the background, the bums are gathering up their bedrolls, and the vendors are laying out their mirrors and jewels and charms.
The Scissor Sisters are playing on my Ipod and I liftt my arms with the lyrics, dancing on my Rollerblades as I speed along:"If you stand up, reach your arms out wide, Close your eyes and try to fly… "
I look up and into the face of my roommate carrying his board back from an early surf. I circle him in a slow stop, smiling. A photographer in the background raises his black camera and starts shooting pictures of us.
I ask him who he is, where he’s from. Ed Richter, working for a woman’s fashion magazine in Germany. He gives me his contact information and says I can have the pictures, maybe write for his magazine?
I nod a goodbye and continue down the ocean boardwalk, zigzagging through a movie shoot – ducking under cranes, around security guards, stepping over extension cords. I squeeze between three girls on rollerskates in bikinis, and turn into the skateboard park.
I choose the side path so I don’t interfere with long-haired little boys flipping their skateboards over rails in the background. And finally, I’m at the breakwater. The place where the surfers gather to catch waves.
My own backyard of clear, blue-and-white, expansive meditation. The waves are perfect today. Black stick figures bob and swoop and fly on the powerful face of pure, churning water, their boards flying into the air and blending with the crashing froth as they land. This is what it’s all about. Riding on the edge of the unpredictable, trying to harness the energy of nature with bravery and without expectations. Pure living.
On the way home I see a familiar thick, blond bum. He has his own piano on the beach, and rolls it down to the boardwalk every morning. He’s playing and singing:
"You spend your life, waiting for this moment."