Three short poems on being borderline unhinged:
What we cannot write
Begins to write us instead,
And seldom does
A good job of it-
We sound even crazier
I respond to every rhetorical question,
And do not understand any metaphors,
I ignore the signs from the universe,
And getting jinxed is my favourite obsession.
There are no secrets
There is nothing
To hide anyway;
An open book
With pages falling out.
“People think that I must be a very strange person. This is not correct. I have the heart of a small boy. It is in a glass jar on my desk…”