Crazy

Where I live, crazy roams the streets;

People mumbling to themselves all day long.

In a world of their own making,

Strung out on incessant thinking,

And high on drama. 

All of them are homeless, 

though most have keys in their pockets,

But nowhere they can feel at ease.

A bed in a house that they own

Does not make it home. 

They’re all addicted to the same drug:

The unbridled mind,

But it affects everyone differently.

Some seem happy, 

Others angry;

most just look lost. 

Endlessly seeking stimulation

Because they aren’t in touch 

With themselves.

Some like to share 

their madness with an air

Of authority and self importance.

I tend to not listen

to opinions or admonitions, 

Dismissing their noise as insane.

Yet I believe the very same things,

When that noise comes from my own brain.

What differentiates the normal, like me,

From the demented, deranged and disturbed?

Society draws the line:

Crazy speaks their insanity out loud.

If I keep mine inside, 

Does that make me

Sane?