People say I'm "in"sane
but if losing myself
in what makes me happy
and drinking exactly 3/4
cup  of coffee
every morning
and only stepping on the white
of zebra-crossings
for luck
and always having
my music volume
up to the maximum
and spending my saturdays
reading
and my nights
rereading
and my mornings pretending
that my life is a musical
and having extra happy days
when birds
replace my alarmclock

if all these things are what make you call me
"in"sane
I would never want you to even consider
calling me "out"sane.

the house is making,
noisy demands, this morning
that i feel i am, unable to meet

the microwave,
is bleating about the coffee steaming, standing, waiting,
on it's spinning table

the washing machine,
is singing a smug little jingle.
job complete. washing done,
are'nt i neat!

the dryer,
whirring, sighing, thumping,
slumping,
to a rythmn all its own.

the roomba,
is doing,
the
rhumba,
all the way
down the
hall.

the computer,
dings and sings
you have new mail.

and worst of all
the alarmclock,
has told me.
i have,
met my quota,
of snooze recalls.

so,
now,
i have to,
get up and face it all.

how i wish,
for the days,
when the
house mechanics,
went about their work,
in quiet and dutiful ways.
requiring no praise at all.

But who regrets love?
Who doesn't want to love?
Who has never had that feeling
Of lying on their bed alone,
On top of the covers,
With no one else at home?
Who has never stared
At the ceiling in the dark,
Watching that God-forsaken fan turning
So fast that they can't tell
One blade from another,
Seeing another blur they could live without?
Who has never seen the little chain hanging,
Shaking as uncertainly as
Their spirit these days?
Who has never remembered their voice,
The tone alone,
Saying "Someday you should just get
That **** fan fixed-"
And who has never wished,
Who has never wished
Those blades would cut the memory away,
All the while knowing that,
Like the heavy midnight air,
It isn't going anywhere?
Who has never turned onto their side
To watch the wall,
Considering it all through
An alarmclock's acidic blaze,
Hearing an uncle's, aunt's, cousin's,
Best man's, best friend's question again:
"Was it worth it?"
And who has never breathed
A thick little sigh in the dark, answering,
"...absolutely..."?