crazy.
you're crazy
he would say
and he meant it.

crazy because
our lines didn't cross...
the intersection
that we were supposed to meet
always seemed jammed
no progress
no moving forward
the ways we were supposed to touch each other
never felt right.

two loose ends
never meeting at the same spot.
lost children
among the midst of our lives
no path to lead us back
to where we were supposed to have started.

we met eachother with anger
angry faces
misplaced traces,
lots of frusteration
and denial,
and nervousness,
instead of...
laughter.

crazy
he would say,

you believe in angels,
what's wrong with you?
you'd take the whole universe
in one breath...
you're out of touch with reality...
you believe in dreams
and seach for symbols
as if some symbol
is going to give you the answer.
life has no map,
i am your compass
and there is NO direction.
you get up
and take the world
one person at a time-
bleeding out your heart for others.
you talk to strangers
and think you've been places
you've never seen.
and yet,
you get up
and you live
and you do it again
and again-
you think this is normal?
you think you have it all figured out-
you're ******* crazy.

as the clock slows down
and i catch up to the fast pace
of my beaten heart,
as the world slows to a halt
and i catch my breath
after inhaling sparks
from fallen stars and daydreams
i've never been more certain
i am indeed...
crazy.

crazy for allowing him to capture
the best parts of myself
place them in a jar too tiny-
on a shelf that's too big,
and mislabel them
with a big *** sign that read
"DO NOT TOUCH"

i've never been more certain
that i am indeed...
crazy.

crazy for playing lifesaver
on an already sinking ship
crazy for talking to angels
in the middle of the night
crazy for grasping faith
during moments
when the whole world feels
like the collapse of
a black hole-
in the middle of spring
when everything is trying
to start over.

crazy for living
my life on the inside of his tiny jar
on a shelf that's too big
listening to him scream
getting mixed up daily,
a television broadcast
which gets inturrupted
by an emergency test

test
test

this is only a test,
and if the results show it
fine-

i'm crazy.

Not a lot has changed inside
From who I used to be.
I’ve gained wrinkles and gray hair
But that’s just humanity.
It doesn’t change the facts at all;
I am still who I always was.
It’s the packaging that changes
And that has a reasonable cause.

When I forget something
Folks call me old and senile
But, the fact is that I have
Been doing that for quite a while.
Ever since I was a kid
As a matter of pure fact.
So, don’t mislabel something
That is not an aging fact.

And when I groan a bit
When rising from my chair
It’s a bad habit I learned
Long ago, some bad where.
It is laziness and whining
And that’s the pure truth.
It has nothing to do with
My distance from youth.

When my eyes get misty
At something I may see
It’s not that old age has
Has totally overtaken me.
It’s because I’ve been around
For enough of these years
To recognize the feelings
That go on behind tears.

So tip your hat to me, my friends
And you surely won’t go wrong.
There is a bit of credit due
For sticking around this long.
It has given me some vision
Due to plenty of hindsight,
To make better decisions now
And to make most of them right.

At a crossroads we write the left
Unburdened and unabashed, we are felt!
As a clumsy hand balancing tarnished copper
But we think it brass and boldly she calls
"Sit for this metallic weight is straining!"
On words we wonder, curious what lies behind.
The ground at our zenith, no wonder
We mislabel worms as stars, praise them great,
Quaking creeks sound as ants in our clogged ears.
"Uncork your wines, fellows; age more yields grey
Though we feel it golden."

When I tell my little sister I got a pet mouse
She's asks "why didn't you get a hamster like a normal person?"
Her voice poisoned with disgust
When the guy at the pet store says he didn't expect me to be a snake person
Says he didn't expect to sell a mouse to someone like me so quickly
I know he means little girl, breakable woman
Little girls are not supposed to be into snakes and scraped knees and oversized tshirts
But I, I always have been
And yet my friends who have the best intentions
Tell me if people saw my accessories they'd never assume I'm queer
But they don't say queer they say gay
But I'm not gay
But I'm not straight
And I keep teetering between too much and not enough
Always in this heat of this new game
And I was never taught how to play
I was never given a rule book to my gender
To my sexuality
Because they never tell you how to be in between
I never correct people when they mislabel me in one way or another
Because I've learned people hear what they want to believe
It means I will be wasting the already fleeting breath in my lungs
To explain something to those who will never embrace it
My gay friends debated over whether bisexual people are actually gay in front of me
And wondered why I walked out of the restaurant
They didn't see the lava bubbling with anger and shame at the back of my throat
I cannot even call myself bisexual
Because that implies too gendered
That implies too simple
For my hopelessly complexed identity
I find myself somewhere on the border
And some days this body serves its purpose
Other days it is violently trying to escape itself
Not quite enough to mention to anyone but me
Not quite enough to matter to anyone but me
But I see these binaries as a prison
And most days it seems like I am in solitary confinement
Too much, not enough
Always in between

This time the French have gone too far! This will not stand, you hear!
The makers of “Méthode Champenoise” are suing Miller beer.
For years their spies have regularly infiltrated in the States,
suing all who dare mislabel bubbly made from grapes.
(We cannot call the sparkling wines produced on our own shores
“champagne” according to long, well established, laws.)
Fines and penalties are paid for breaking those mandates
Although to me it seems to be a case of sour grapes.
Today their spy was shopping for a piece of camembert
When he spied a Miller ad for “the champagne of bottled beers”
“Sacre Bleu” the Frenchman cried! “what sacrilege is here?.”
How dare these “Millers” to compare our drink with bottled beer.
They seized the product off the shelf to (ahem) do some testing.
I hear it knocked Jacques on his *** but he claims he’s just resting.

No tears if you see my back break
There ain't a limit to what I can take
On my life, you will never awake
In a strange house
With the screaming louder than the smell
I would gladly burn in Hell
Before you live in a car
Washing off wherever you are;
Gas station restrooms or a nasty hotel

No.
You won't ever miss school
Daddy will always take you
And you will never know that life
Or see the things I went through
Inebriated and incarcerated will never be me
I'll work every day to make the life I gave you easy

I'll not raise a hand to hurt you
Don't let that alert you
I'm just here to show you there
Is always a home to go to
And if things aren't always sound
And Mama's not around
You still won't be alone
I know it would be hard but I would keep you strong

No tears if you see my back break
I promise you now that I will work all my days
To see you have everything you need
Don't mislabel me as absentee
If that is how it has to be
I'll see you every minute I can spare

No tears if you see my back break
Only hard work spares the heartache

I used to think
that I was unqualified
to say such things.

But then,
a professor of mine
encouraged the seething hum
within me
to boil to a roar
and so-

These are the facts
I’ve uncovered.

Our country’s countrymen
were not from the West.

They were here,
on this patch of land,
making their own.

When the others arrived,
led by the witchery
they seized what they could find,
butchered,
murdered,
brought the land to its knees with war
and feasted on its flesh.

Our big ol’ U.S. of A stands on the bones and weary shoulders
of an indigenous people
we have been made to ignore
or mislabel as “savage”
almost unwittingly-

Prey, all of us
in the jaws of a Capitalist agenda