This poet mind
Pretzelling itself
Noticing everything else
But not the importance
Of the human heart mechanics.

I see things that are not real
Tensed with fear of imagined trauma
Plane crashes, preoccupied with my own death
People out my window who are not there
Hiding, wrapped around myself
Guarding my book of secrets
Careful not to let a page open
To your scrutinizing eye

There is so much written in my mind
But you say I am clueless
I play dumb
Constantly struggling for words
Who laugh at me and tease me
Sometimes I wonder
Am I retarded and no one has told me?