Insanity

I know your argument— just draw.
But to put myself on a piece of paper

is abuse to blank canvases

that lay awaiting someone with soul

to give them a life.

~~~

I know your argument— just play.
And if the world were chock full of children,

we’d play ourselves into blissful slumber,

from a hard Playground’s day.

I understand your point— just look alive.
Yet the insanity my dreams do bring, reveal
a certain poetic state of mind

that I choose to hide behind.

~~~

Please don’t let me bother you

more than I normally do.
But it’s everything, lovely,

that’s eating me inside.
Inadequate? That was defined

when you showed me smiles I knew were lies.

And hellos that covered for good byes.

~~~

And for reasons I don’t know,
It’s become my turn now.

By showing smiles that I know are lies,

greeting others with inflections of goodbyes

giving advice I don’t heed myself…

telling others I’m doing well…

(when really, leave me alone; go to hell)

~~~

but I’m trying.

God, I’m trying.
Mom, I’m trying.
Father, I’m trying.

Lovely, without your guiding misdemeanors,

I am still trying.