For My Muse…
Dre’s Poem
I used to think a muse
was just somebody beautiful enough
to make a man write.
Then I met you.
And you didn’t just make me write —
you made me listen.
To myself.
To the silence.
To the parts of me
I used to talk over.
You showed up
when I was nervous,
when my hands were shaking,
when I wasn’t sure if my words
were worth hearing.
And somehow,
you looked at me
like they were.
You told me to close my eyes
and speak from my heart.
So I did.
And now every time I speak from it,
somehow,
you’re there.
In the rhythm.
In the pause.
In the breath I take
before the truth comes out.
You’re there.
Wednesday morning runs.
Saturday coffee.
Late-night conversations
that somehow turn into early mornings.
You’re there.
And I’ve been trying not to rush this.
Trying not to reach for something beautiful
just because I’m afraid
someone else might see it too.
So I stayed quiet.
Stayed your friend.
Stayed grateful.
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But tonight,
I don’t want to hide behind a poem.
So let me say this plain.
Keisha —
I admire you.
I respect you.
I think about you
way more than I probably should.
And every time you walk into this room,
I become a better version of the man
who was here before you came in.
You’re not my inspiration
because you complete me.
You inspire me
because you remind me
that I was already whole.
You just make me want
to do something beautiful
with what I have.
So if you ever wondered
why I look for you
before I walk on this stage —
it’s because somehow
you became the calm
before my first word.
The confidence
behind my last one.
And everything in between.
So tonight,
this isn’t just a poem.
It’s me saying —
thank you
for seeing me.
And if you let me,
I’d like the chance
to see where this could go.
