My veins are unusual.
The way they pulse my blood--
warm, red fluid--
makes my head turn sideways
as I dance around my room

in undergarments for you
all alone.

I've wanted to touch you.
You don't know how badly--
romance, emotional spirits--
have flooded over my thoughts
horses running around my room

while I pretend to kiss you
all alone.

My behavior worries about you.
You are unimportant--
ignoring my view--
hair auburn for you
as I move around this room

smiling and cheeks blushed
all alone.

Neurosis is my diagnoses.
No, someday I'll have you--
spectacular, true--
this is no mental illness
for someday you'll dance around this room, too

holding me as we spin insanely
together.

When I was a child
tucked in blankets and snuggled in tight
my mother turned on the fan
and my head would race inside.

That drumming twirl
it drove me mad to the edge of quickness
to the point where everything was spinning
like the propeller of that fan.

As if a plane
was flying over my head I shut my eyes
yet the tapping of any movement was a flash
top speed horses in my mind.

Hooves darting for the line
I tossed and screamed for my mother
forcing her to turn it off,
turn off that horrible fan.

I'm used to that device now
I even used to sing into it like a microphone
and that fast pace of the world around me slipped away
and I was normal again.

But then mathematics
drove it back inside my head
and the numbers and equations I couldn't comprehend
messed with my head.

1, 2, 3
4, 5, 6,
7, 8, 9,
10, 11, 12.

The clicking of the calculator
made the teacher's voice loud and like a blur
and everything drove me crazy
my brain not understanding of 1, 2, or 3.

Linear equations
I couldn't read and everything was dizzy
as if in running like silver
spinning like that fan at top speed.

I almost cried
when that speed happened again
when they placed that exam at my hands
and my brain reacted like it did with that fan.

I rarely dream.
I used to,
quite often--black and white--
rose petals and elephants with wings.
Now it takes hours.
Not to dream,
but to sleep--mind racing--
with mania of over-excitable excitement.
Then I'm in darkness.
As if I'm dead,
lying in a coffin--I'm the corpse bride--
only wishing for a dream of angelic giants.
Perhaps I'm now a ghost.
Not evil with psychosis,
but destroying my sheets--to make every morning--
as if dancing with my social phobia of shyness.
But this night.
The darkness is,
not just manic--it is mixed with depression--
summer to winter and too much and too little.
I listen to my heart.
Rather than dream,
thump, thump--a beating ***** suffices--thump--
my heart screams awake and I catch myself in falling.
In a jolt.
I'm over-calmed with,
nothingness--darkening dream--thump, thump--
dream of manic nothingness.

Mama baked me French bread
while my Daddy beat my ***.
My buttocks throbbed red
and the tears were a river
flooding as if I was Noah,
an ark of my pain never floating.

I savored that French bread
and the crunch of the crust
that crumbled tiny bits to the carpet.
It made my tummy full and rumbling with gurgles
as if it taught me to use a bow and arrow
to shoot my Daddy right in the forehead.

Someday I'll move to France, maybe England.
I'll learn the way of living there
so that I'll let go of the pain marked on my ***
and to fed on homemade French bread
for my Mama's dead and my satisfaction hungry
and Daddy shoots me down with ******* and a gun.

In dreams I find dear, your temperature is nothing but warm
an escape to a realm, a fantasy of joy and exploration.
I hold you close, never to let go of your grasp so firm
yet you vanish, your presence temporary imagination.
I want chocolate cake, as if I want desert more than your body
a chance to break free, an opportunity to bid farewell.
Not angel cake, but bitter and dry chocolate that is somewhat sloppy
to clean myself, like a bathing animal but falling down a stairwell.
I can only dream, clutter and nonsense like a mental disorder
and then I crave you, more than cake and more than desire itself.
I want to escape, travel inside my brain and cross the border
insanity my destiny, the want to find you within myself.
Stability is lost, I now know this more than I imagine
yet dragons breathe fire, and you again leave on a wagon.