Crazy

If you’re going to say I'm crazy, 
say I’m crazy because I see things in the dark.
I saw a few too many scary pictures when I was 10 years old.
I haven’t been the same ever since.
I’ve always seen fear in the unknown, 
and I’ve always seen fear in confusion; 
I’ve always seen fear in the darkness.
I try to trust that the darkness won’t engulf me since that doesn’t make sense,
but it’s easier to just turn on the lights.
If you’re going to say I’m delusional, 
say it because I can cry for hours without moving a muscle,
without even making a single sob.
But when I wake up in the middle of the night, 
my entire body shakes like an old rickety wooden roller coaster,
The Mean Streak was always my least favorite ride at Cedar Point because it scared me.
I always thought its wooden frame would collapse since it stopped halfway through the ride once,
when I get scared like that and start shaking like that, I think maybe my heart’s going to stop like that roller coaster. 
It's a little house in a tornado about to cave in on itself.
It reminds me of my old house that was permeated with carbon monoxide, 
it would twist with the wind, 
with every breath of the sky.
I always waited for the day that the house would stop enduring the breeze, 
break in and kill me, snap like my ribs.
I always kind of hoped for that to happen.
If you’re going to say I'm nuts say it because the last time I saw somebody panicked like this, 
or talking this quickly, 
was in the middle of one of my mom’s manic episodes.
But don’t you dare say there’s something wrong with me 
because I call you out on your mistreatment towards me,
because I can’t tolerate emotional torture,
I can’t throw myself into the pits of abuse without a fight.
That’s one of the few things that doesn’t make me crazy.