Me?
I am crazy
Ideas just seem to overflow
Thoughts and dreams will come and go
My mind and I hold hands when we run free
But they can't actually see
So they guess I'm crazy.
I am dark
There's something about a shadow I can make into a joke
In them, however, chilling thoughts it will provoke
In a flashlight's eery glow they won't hear my poem of horror; not a verse
But I don't like death- this talent is a blessing, not a curse
(I've heard that other people are much worse.)
I am an artist
But my emotions won't be masked by the stroke of the paintbrush
The flute's sweet sounding notes won't tell opinions I have to "Hush"
The world gets only one of each and one of us, you see
And if they ask, "Like whom would you like to be?"
I'll calmy answer, "What's wrong with being me?"