I bite my nails until they bleed;
Sometimes I go shopping with greasy, unbrushed hair
Growing out from my head like bullrushes, reeds.

I think that Monday is red,
How can you not know what that means?
Sunday's sort of grey, like mouldy bread.

I talk to myself, usually out loud.
I answer myself, too; that's meant to be worse,
And I do it in medium-sized crowds.

Please don't offer me sweets,
Unless you don't mind my eating exactly 3.
That's a safe, even number, plus 1 to make the 2 complete;
(Like spare parts, in case the first 2 candies somehow deplete.)

Sometimes I dream that my family members die,
Or turn into monsters; sometimes I still believe it,
When I wake up. Don't ask me why.

I have days that are dark, even when it's light outside;
As if my vision's been affected, damaged,
By all the tears I've cried.

I get angry, and I break things; promises, dishes,
My boyfriend's little gadgets,
My capacity for wishes.

I use the term 'quirky'; I mostly leave unspoken,
All the other words: freak, nutjob, loser,
Weirdo, oddball; broken.

Every day I remind myself to open my heart.
Honesty, and too much being myself, that's some of being crazy;
It's the best part.

The End

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