boxes and hearts... and feet

It's easier when I'm alone,
I'm excellent at alone

Myself and I, we are the closest of friends,
confidantes for life

I know all my secrets and Idiosyncracies,
I've accepted all the quirks

It's only when someone thinks they want in
to some portion of me

That things get crazy or confused;
That the asylum starts to show

Through the cracks....

when I must torture over choices;
Of words or actions or inactions

When I can't just be the weird I am without
Potential labeling or institutionalization

Into the box we go...

Institutions of behavior, of social grace,
of empathy, of tact, relationships, boxes.

Then I don't know where to put my hands...
And I often find my feet lodged down my throat

Touching my heart as it attempts to escape my chest
and I trample myself from the inside out

It's all very tangly...

Senses, sentences, stumbling over words and
Hurtling myself head over a*s, sometimes

My head gets lodged and I figure I'll just stay
Like that for awhile since it's familiar

Until I get lonely and remember...

That, yes, I am no good at this at all
But like a child learning a foreign language

I'll get it eventually, i hope, if not I'm
Having quite a time with a*s and feet and hearts

And at least someone somewhere is laughing...