Call me Crazy

 CALL ME CRaZY

I’ve been called crazy more than I’ve been called my name. The latinos call me loco!

I don’t mind being mental.

 

If my name was Crazy what would be my middle name? It’s questions like this that cause people to think I’m crazy in the first place. But that’s just the way crazy people like me think. Is this what crazy looks like to you? You can’t keep up with crazy. Is this what crazy talks like?

 

I’m cool with crazy.

 

There are worse things to be than crazy. I would rather be crazy than ignorant. I would rather be crazy than loud. I rather be crazy than evil. I would rather be crazy than ugly – on the inside and/or out. Believe it or not I would rather be crazy than regular because then I would be the person calling other people crazy when I know nothing about the origins of their distinction.

 

I might be nuts you know?

 

For a while I thought crazy was my name. I never took offense to crazy or cray-cray. I never knew crazy was a issue until the world made me feel that way. I never realized the negative connotations with crazy till I heard an old lady talkin about me in the street. She whispered with her  friends, “Momma should be shamed. Out here lookin crazy!” I kept swangin up the street and stopped in front of a store gazing into the window looking for the crazy. I cocked my head to the side where was the crazy, was it my hair, my teeth, my skin? I peered into my own eyes and searched for crazy from within.

 

I couldn’t find the crazy.

So I stopped searchin.

 

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Dream #9

Dream #9

 

Here goes nothing.

 

I sojourn until I discover a worthy reason to stop.

In the heat and in the cold.

 

I was on my way in a hurry no where

when she stopped me and we sat,

on a bench by the beach. The sea was still.

 

The world just the same rotates,

leaves continue to fall as prices rise.

I told her the truth about heaven and

I told her at the end of the day I’m me.

 

What’s left when the truth is free?

You won’t know till it happens to you.

I sat and searched for a message in the bottom of the bottle,

until it was time to fallback.

It’s November again and I aim higher.

 

“What are you worried about?”

She asked over and over.

I still had no answer.

“Your guess is as good as mine”

Unsatisfied with the statement she stared into responding.

I stuttered “It’s the world.”

 

Excuses, excuses, EXCUSES!

“Spare me the hurt,” she insisted.

I tried to look out my dirty glasses.

Secretive, strange, and salty.

“Don’t worry, it’s a waste of time” she hissed as she walked on by.

 

Regrets are hard to forget.

Time will tell and pass, as time does.

Don’t expect anyone to save you.

All alone at the end of the day I’m me!

 

They sky was red.

She practiced her violin by the water’s edge.

I wish someone would have told me it’d be like this.

 

You learn, you’ll learn, you will learn.

Wondering and wandering.

 

I tried to open my eyes but I realized I didn’t know me very well.

 

 

November
November