Oftentimes, I’ll sit and stare
And phase out for a moment or two.
I’ll come back around,
And I’ll look all around,
And I’ll think:
Who the frick are you?
I’ll say a word, in reply to your few
(That’s just what a polite person do)
But oftentimes I’ll not have a clue,
I just do what I’ve been told to always do.
Respond in agreement.
Don’t be controversial
Don’t cause disagreements.
I can sit and watch my son play for hours
And romanticise weather, the sun, the snow, and the April showers.
I can talk for what seems like forever and more,
I can jump, and spin, and crawl on the floor.
I can sound remarkably smart and grown up,
But I also can sound like I’m just throwing up
Words, sounds, and concerning inflexions,
(Fear not, this verbal diarrhea is not caused by infection!)
I can walk for a mile, I could go all night long
But this isn’t the norm, please don’t get me wrong.
I’m not one to shout in defense of my illness,
In self deprecation I deflect any care,
But it gets to a point, when in a brief moment of stillness,
I have to say
As I pull out my hair*