Sometimes I believe that I am crazy.
Not crazy in love, or crazy smart.
But downright, medication provoking insanity.

Questioning myself, back and forth.
There are two of me.
She smiles and does what she is told.
I break out of my close entrapment and let her see the real world.

The world that has no answers,
the world that has such strict boundaries on what is "normal."
What is normal?

They say that I can still be like them.
They say that medication will take me away,
and leave her by herself.
She is the real crazy one: the complacent conformist.

And so she smiles and keeps our mouth closed.