With Summer’s moonlight shining down
We’re not alive to merely appease everyone
Reminder to exist for your soul’s own sake
Basking in the fickle warmth of the rising sun
Released from those winter storms
Contending with heat & humidity down there
Be comfortable in your sovereignty
& thus release yourself from their stares
Do not double back & suffer fools
Stretch to become your complete ability
Expanding your mind to finally believe
& thus be fully & truly free
My love resembles
A smattering of prose
Lady, I beg you
Won’t you touch those toes?
I’ll create any dream you like
Stories, poems or tales
Infatuation lingering now
Smitten with all you avail
I wish for your subtle tease
But I can’t handle your stare
I’ll write anything you please
Though I fear you’re quite rare
She was enraged
But it was merely an aesthetic
Undiagnosed shakedown calamity
Her stare leaving me cold & pathetic
She asked me why I was a Pisces
I told her I used to drink like a fish
Though attempts at humor fell flat
I was awkward; she was such a dish
I’m not as spectacular as I may seem
Age filters vexing characteristics instead
She looked upon me with curious disdain
Tangibly conceding to the voices in my head
“Many people hear voices when no one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”
― Margaret Chittenden
