He walked
Down the street
With a black
T-shirt
Saying:
You're just jealous
Because the voices
Are talking to me!
The grin on his
Face
The swagger in his
Step
Was one I knew…
Because
They were mine
Too.
They say it's a fine
Line
Between genius
And crazy.
Success is the only
Difference.
Or is it
Happiness?
If the crazy people
Are happy
And the sane people
Are stressed out
And die
Of heart attacks
And cancer,
Then who's
Really crazy?
Can we get back
To the voices?
Please?
Shhh…
Don't interrupt her!
Can't you see
She's writing
A poem!?!
I can.
Nobody asked you!
Pipsqueek!
*pout*
Knock it off!
All of you!
Just because
I name my voices
And some
Psychologist
Calls them
Archetypes
Doesn't mean
They aren't real.
Because sometimes
They write poems,
And plays,
Sometimes they become
Great characters
Like Bilbo
And Darth Vader,
Who whisper
Into the minds
Of all the great
Writers
The worlds they
Come from.
How dare we say
They aren't real,
And that we
Aren't the voices
In their realms?
Paradox.
The Muse she
Whispers to us all,
The collective dreams
Of humanity.
I don't beat
My head
And tell them
All to shut up
(unless I can't
do anything
about it
at the moment)
But rather
Listen
To see
Who's
Speaking.
Some are dark
Like my inner
Bi-0-tch,
Judging everyone
And everything…
Not all the voices
Are helpful
And benign…
BUT,
If you know
Who you are,
A child
Of the Divine,
Then you can use
The light inside you
To know
Who just needs
To vent
And who needs
To be heeded.
You're just jealous
Because I've taken
The time
To know the difference.
