Am I accepted here throughout
The poetry world?
Though I am a liar
(But you all know my pain)
And a sociopath,
I still love the make beieve world,
Like dreaming I was naked
In an NFL stadium
And had to run across the field
To a door that kept on disappearing
And reappearing on the other
Side of the field.
I know myself better than my
Psychiatrist does,
But the truth of the lie is
I love the words more than myself,
And the mass darkness I live in
Is filled with a universe of
Make believe.
So I write the Galactic Sea
And yes I am a crazy person,
So I defiled my name and the dream
Became reality.
I believe in my words
And I am hungry for these truthful
Poets who sieze poetry
At its throat and follow
Their scripted verses.
(I hear repetition has much to do with insanity)
Sure I am hungry for love
But Im in a relationship with sedatives,
The sadness of these poet saints
In a mammoth sized disproportionate
Reality,
Ive read my psychanalysis
And it turns out Im a poet with dreams
Who knows the difference
Between a star and a lightbulb.
