Crazy?
Sure, I’m crazy.
Then again, what does it mean to be crazy?
Am I crazy because I still want to believe?
Is it crazy to want more?
Am I doing the same things over and over again,
and expecting a different result?
But wait . . .
that’s not crazy.
That’s the definition of insanity
which, yes, if I’m being honest,
of course, I’m insane too.
But who isn’t?
Am I crazy to want more out of my life?
Or am I crazy to ask?
Maybe . . .
I think if in each life a little rain must fall, then to each has to be their own right to go crazy. I mean absolutely crazy, like for example, the way we were back as kids, out late and regardless of the consequences, there were no consequences, at least not to us.
And even if there were . . .
So what?
So, am I crazy?
No more (or less) than anyone else here
No, wait.
I am crazy.
I’m crazy to want to feel young again,
or to feel love, or to be so wild
or so absolutely reckless
that there is no caution or red flags,
and even if there were—I want to be that wild
and I want to be that young again
when everything was worth the trip
and nothing,
and I do mean nothing at all,
could hold me back
or stop me from being wild—
or crazy.
I’m crazy too believe that somehow,
or regardless of my faults
or my misgivings
or my mistakes
or even despite my poorly thought ideas
or actions,
there is a way that my dreams can be captured
or cornered and kept, and yes,
I am crazy to still believe in love
regardless of the loveless demeanor
which often bleeds from the world around me.
I am certifiable.
I am crazy to believe in the heat of lust
and the spark of romance
and crazy to think that even if there was an all-out war,
the entire world could explode
and nothing else would matter,
no consequences would deter me,
and nothing and no one could stop me,
at least not when it comes to her,
my love.
Sure, I’m crazy.
I’m crazy to believe that there is still a chance
even when there are signs,
both literal and figurative ones,
and despite the countless reasons to doubt the world
or to doubt that love is real,
or despite the countless questions
which wonder if love exists
or, at minimum, despite my worries
that fear if true love can be returned; yes,
I still believe, and yes,
this makes me crazy.
Absolutely,
I am crazy to think that the ghosts of my past
will somehow disappear
and that the remnants of my regrettable yesterdays
will let me go onwards, or let me go free
and that despite my falls
or the long list of my mistakes,
I am crazy enough to believe
that I can overcome all of this—but yet,
I am not so crazy to misunderstand
one true and valuable fact:
nothing comes freely
or easily.
It has to hurt if it’s to heal . . .
I get that.
I am not crazy enough to believe
that this idea of recovery
will come to me without work.
No, not at all,
and I am not so crazy that I think
that somehow the sky will open up
and that a hand will point down at me
coming from the clouds above and say,
yes—it’s your turn now, kid!
Don’t hold back this time . . .
And Chaos,
if I’m being honest,
I’d have to say that chaos can be sexy.
Am I wrong?
Can any one else deny this?
Can anyone deny the sexy attraction
to wild insanities or the draw to the ignition
of such crazy beauties, hostile and on fire,
and that yes . . .
Yes, oh my God, yes!
This is more than sex or just sexy
and to me,
this is more than being crazed by someone
or being crazy.
This is wild. This is primal or perhaps animalistic
and yes, Goddammit, yes!
I am crazy because there are times
when I am like a carnivore, a beast,
or an animal, and even more; yes,
I am an insatiable one at that.
I’m crazy because I do believe in love,
even when love itself says sorry,
but I’m not here for you,
or that I don’t want you
nor have I ever been
“in love with you,” so-to-speak
or that sorry
but what you thought was real—well,
it just wasn’t and thus,
this is love too,
when it goes
unreturned.
And this is why I’m crazy . . .
See?
I’m nuts because I still believe that yes,
there is a place for me, and yes,
there is a home, a den, a place of Zen
and a room where I belong,
and even now or even when
my doubts overrun me
or push my back against the wall,
or when my fears of being alone sneak up
or corner me, like a mugger
or like a thief looking to beat me for my wallet,
and when I am scared to the point
where I am in fear for my life;
I’m crazy because I do believe
that love happens.
I understand that life changes
and love changes too
and so do times and me,
I am changing as well.
I am evolving and amidst the changes
and the common craziness
of everyday life,
I still believe that love is out there
somewhere hunting me equally,
and just as hungry
and the same as I am yearning or hoping,
my love is out there, ready to find me,
and right at my door.
See what I mean by crazy?
Love is real
and while perhaps not everything
has been revealed to me yet,
I’m crazy enough to be on the dangle
or like the carrot before the horse,
I am still crazy enough to pursue my dream,
even if my dream isn’t real anymore.
It doesn’t matter . . .
Because first, my dream is still real to me
and lastly, yes, I know my queen.
She is out there.
And crazy?
Sure, she’s crazy too,
about me . . .
which is what makes us perfect
for each other.
I don’t care
what the world says about me anymore.
I know what’s in my heart
and my love tells me not to worry.
She knows I’m crazy
yet,
she loves me still.
The Written Addiction 