It Takes Stepping Stones (to get to me)

You probably don’t understand me.

You probably never will.

I can tell you that my brain is scattered

and to the brim it is filled

with madness.

My mind is never the same.

I’m constantly changing.

Forever.

I can tell you that I’m a writer.

I’m a poet.

I know it.

I can tell you that I’m anxious.

And riddled with depression.

It gets bad then it gets worse then I’m okay until I’m not and

the cycle starts again.

I am constantly in motion.

Even when I’m not.

My mind never stops.

I think things I know I should not.

I believe my thoughts

and I know

it’s not healthy.

I know I am guilty.

I can’t explain myself enough in words for you to get me.

You won’t ever get me.

And I use to hate that.

But now

I love that

I am a mystery.


My mind doesn’t make much sense.

I confuse you with my actions,

with my words,

And you’re on the fence

on whether or not

you like me.

Can you deal with me?

And

in return

You say I’m broken, so beautifully

Broken.

Well,

I would rather be broken than not

feel pain at all.

I can’t afford to be numb.

Call me mad but…

I’ve got stories to tell.

I’ve got words to spell.

My madness is my destiny.

And I won’t let disapproval

from anyone

get the best of me.

If only for a day

Would you stay

Long enough to get me?

To try

and get me

Before you let me

slip away.

Become a story

on a page

of my madness,

my beautiful madness.

My beautiful muse.

A

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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