It doesn’t make me crazy
If I talk to myself;
I am simply in a relationship with my words.
Maybe I ate a delicious cookie, and now I’m trying not to step on the scale,
As it has painful proof of it.
I’ll burn those extra calories, taking it in aloud.
I do not need to schedule the time; the words are always open to me.
They are the most intimate and precious possessions of mine.
It fascinates me how the simple things in life,
People often intend to turn it into a difficult puzzle.
They are trying to fit in the impossible game,
Intentionally, they’re aiming to fail.
You’re suddenly listening to the random conversations.
You’re making assumption on your own,
Even though they are speaking a foreign language.
You’re stupidly avoiding learning something,
That you actually could use
In this limited lifetime.
Why are you trying to intrude the beauty?
Invest yourself into the relationship
That occupied your own heart and being.
My relationship with the words
Is the longest I’ve had.
I’m still getting to know them, each day,
Realizing how much of amusement they offer,
And how much undiscovered art they contain.
How untouched and fresh they sound,
As a new born child.
We are all using similar words,
But I am not threatened,
Because nobody said any of them
In a way my words are use to be said.
So, do not look at me like that,
I like to make sense of nonsense,
That makes sense only to me,
In my long discussions with myself.