Insane Creativity

Often I wonder
What it would be like
To give myself
To the feeling
Of insanity
To pull it to me
And wrap
It round like
A cloak
Allowing my mind
The freedom
To indulge
In the craziness
To forget
The world exists
Beyond my
And plumb the depths
Of creativity
That seem to
Be endless


For hours on end,
I could sit and talk to you
About reality.
Or I can take the words
Of what is,
And build something new,
Something creative,
Something based on truth –
Mine, yours, or others –
But exaggerated,
Feelings not expressed
In the verbal repartee,
But the internal
Turmoils spewed
Onto the page,
Given life in a whole new way.
So, just because I write it,
Doesn’t mean that’s how it is,
It just means I’m
A different analysis.

Fake It Til You Make It

It’s hard to find a creative spark,
When all that’s in the mind is dark.
With the Black Dog sitting at the door,
Words don’t want to arrive no more.
Numbness, lethargy, and despair,
Suck the living from the air.
Working hard to fight this state,
Leaves little time to contemplate,
Or muse about the little things,
Creativity usually brings.
A promise is a promise, however,
And now it’s time to deliver.
Step up, push forward, even fake it,
You never know, you just might make it.


I’ve never had a muse,
Not unless they were well hidden.
But since you came along,
The words have come unbidden.
For months I’ve questioned why
I’m bound to you this way,
So perhaps that you’re my muse
Is why you’re meant to stay?


The decisions I make, may be confusing from the outside,
But they are my decisions.
The battle between head and heart leads in strange directions,
Far outside the conformity of social norms.
Alienated by feelings and emotions so foreign and intense,
Creating a loneliness too painful to express.
No one to express it to anyway,
As no one understands, but instinctively pass judgement,
Rubbing salt into the wounds inflicted by the self-flagellation
Of trying to find self-acceptance as an outsider in the world.