Poetry

Or Not!

Questioning every thought and decision. I must be exact, have precision.

Does my illness have me thinking the wrong thought? Or am I thinking normal? I bet not.

Did I embarrass myself or do oaky? Did they look at me in a strange way?

I wish I didn’t talk so much, that I’d think before speaking and such.

I have never liked my face, always looking at it in disgrace.

I hope they aren’t mad at me, who is it I’m supposed to be?

When will this house get old, I move a lot I am told.

Who was on the phone? Don’t talk to me in that tone.

Did they really talk to me that way? Or is it my illness, I can’t say.

Imagine a time I didn’t think twice. Believe me, it wasn’t nice.

Am I thinking wrong or not?

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