Let me be crazy, for a moment,
talking like a broken parrot,
about nothing,
about everything,
just rambling,
truths,
absurd ideas,
things that don’t even exist,
empty thoughts,
twisted realities,
like I’ve got some unstoppable engine,
endless energy.
Let me be crazy, just for a bit,
walking,
dancing,
to songs playing in my head,
inside,
outside,
singing like I don’t care,
like no one’s around,
like I’m alone in my own tower,
ignoring the looks,
the judgment.
Let me be crazy, honestly,
laughing at my own nonsense,
my thoughts pulling a grin out of me,
getting excited over an idea,
a solution,
a plan that finally makes sense,
laughing alone,
but laughing for real,
quietly,
almost sneaky.
Let me be crazy, maybe,
talking to myself,
having real conversations actually,
seriously,
deeply,
taking the time to see myself,
to hear myself,
to understand,
to come back to myself.
Let me be crazy, for once,
pushing limits,
questioning what’s “normal,”
challenging accepted truths,
daring to take a different path,
questioning
what I was handed,
all that “wisdom” placed too high.
Let me be crazy, even stupid,
owning my flaws openly,
being a real dumbass sometimes,
not good,
not bad,
just following my own illusions,
not rejecting what’s said about me,
but not bowing to it either,
being weird,
maybe even a bastard.
Let me be crazy, completely,
just to tell you, straight up,
I’ve never needed your goddam permission
to live freely:
My madness,
my passions,
my gaps,
my strengths,
my weirdness,
my taste,
my stupid shit.
Just let me be crazy.
A temporary fool,
or a permanent madman.
Author’s Note
It was actually fun to write this poem. I think I was at work, and like usual, I had started repeating random, nonsensical words to myself. There was also this coworker who doesn’t dare to do certain things when other people are around. He often told me he couldn’t be like me, as comfortable as I seem to be. And I always tell him that he could — if he finds the courage to be comfortable being considered as weird, or even crazy.
Let Me Be Crazy is a poem about owning that freedom — an identity fully lived, beyond the need or the fear for other people’s approval.
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With clarity,
The Mirror Room
Odel A.
This made me smile.
That’s such a fabulous stream of consciousness turned to a really cool poem. Well done