I am crazy

Ideas just seem to overflow

Thoughts and dreams will come and go

My mind and I hold hands when we run free

But they can't actually see

So they guess I'm crazy.

  I am dark

There's something about a shadow I can make into a joke

In them, however, chilling thoughts it will provoke

In a flashlight's eery glow they won't hear my poem of horror; not a verse

But I don't like death- this talent is a blessing, not a curse

(I've heard that other people are much worse.)

  I am an artist

But my emotions won't be masked by the stroke of the paintbrush

The flute's sweet sounding notes won't tell opinions I have to "Hush"

The world gets only one of each and one of us, you see

And if they ask, "Like whom would you like to be?"

I'll calmy answer, "What's wrong with being me?"