Crazy or not?

Is it odd to be crazy?
Or to think in a rhyme?
To believe in a world,
which is less than sublime.

To be random, impulsive,
or an uneven fixture.
To throw in self talking
just to finish the mixture.

Is it anger? Is it hate?
Are we like the whole race,
who would throw all the dirt
back into your face?

I don't trust or believe it.
I can't even conceive it.

If you told me a joke,
would I see round the lines?
Would I turn it around
and break the confines

of a freedom of spirit.
Or a hopeless recluse?
Do I win if I'm different?
Or do I always lose?

There's a question within me.
It hides in my muse.
Is it wrong to be crazy?
Is it wrong to be true?