Rituals.

Sometimes I get lost. Sometimes I get lost inside who I am or who I'm trying to be. Sometimes I get lost because people don't see me. Sometimes I just want people to see me. I want them to recognize me. See my intelligence, marvel at my skill. Sometimes I just want some frickin' attention, some praise. Hell, I'll even take the occasional critique. Sometimes I'm sick of being alone.

Wonderland Tell me what I am to do today, sitting In this crazy house Or better yet, tell me What I am to think Sometimes I remember that these thoughts Are crazy and wrong and cast my mind All aflutter But sometimes not Sometimes I wonder why I am running from the truth Why everyone wants me to run from the truth So it’s wake up, shower, eat Take your meds, there’s a good lad Now go to a class where you’re not allowed to talk and all you want to do is laugh And the little pills tell you you’re happy But your mind won’t tell you the reason And happiness without reason? Why that’s its own brand of insanity But shh, don’t say that “Crazy” is not politically correct Or else it’s detrimental to our treatment But what’s so bad about the word? I picked it out myself I wear it so others know I know (It is “crazy,” right? And not the truth? I’m still not clear) Because sometimes I forget that I’m supposed to be wrong Is it harder when you’re so often right? And the little blue pills that keep