No I'm Not

You know how I know I'm not the crazy one, how I'm not the one with all the creepy voices and touching rebukes and scathing replies? Because everyone says I am, and everyone I know doesn't tell the truth like it's meant to be told..or even imagined and not told. Some people I know are about to put the gun in their mouth, smiling the whole time, saying how great they are and how the things they have are so awesome and the smiles keep coming sickeningly out of their faces like yellow pus from an ingrown hair they let fester for a week before they stooped down and did the deed.

You know how I know I'm not a liar, though I may not tell the truth all the time. I tell a truth, and you know when my head hurts or my back or if you're lounging too close too long or if I want to vomit in your face, but you also know if I love you or if I want to be around you or if I trust you--even if it's only true for a year, a day, an hour. I can shine a light on you, and bathe you in heat and happiness and heart. Or I can flick on the hose and douse with frigid delight, watch the curling from the cold and pruney tips, red rimmed eyes.

I'm wary of the people who talk about themselves all the time, even if I am one. I'm wary of people who never use the word I, me, we. I too am weary of the people in between. Non-binary folk, mentioned above, fit for scorn, loose in their emotions like over-sized suits, never baring their gums and never rubbing your coat or scratching your ears. Calm classic citizenry that do nothing for anyone except provide a tax base, a voting public who care that much and not much more. The wary-some folds are louder, so we get drawn to and fro.

Anyway, that's how I know, that's how I know I'm not always the shit to put up with, the litter box smell, or the squeaky windshield wipers, that sometimes there's others' shit to be tolerated and dissuaded and disregarded, then put away. Empty the inbox of sour notes and off key tunes. Keeping the crap makes you crazy, cold, and cringing when the light hits you, when the heat's turned up; waiting for the bill to come in the mail instead of rolling naked in a thin sheet, ditching the security blanket.

My feet clunk just as loud as yours, yes it's true, but I notice the differences and count your reaction and gauge my gait accordingly. That's how I know I'm not crazy, cause I tip on my toes, and bite on my tongue, or I stomp sharply, shrieking to be heard, present company withstanding. So I swim in my suit, loose as it is, though I can change the colour consistent for content and comrades.

Yeah, I ain't the only one that doesn't consider the sounds and smells and the salts in the wounds, but I'm the first one to notice when I should, to not laugh nor point, but notice and almost care, as much about you as I do about me.