Madness
She guessed she’d always known that she was mad.
How else could one explain the things she did?
And yet, the thought of “normal” made her sad,
And so, the best she could, her deeds she hid.
Yes, at the oddest times she danced with joy.
It really didn’t matter when or where.
Her cheerfulness, she knew, would oft annoy.
She smiled at strangers, though it made them stare.
She heard her mother’s voice when quite alone,
Saw magic in the most peculiar places.
Although she was supposed to be full-grown,
She entertained herself with silly faces.
And even though it made her seem insane,
She never tired of playing in the rain.
- Marilyn Gordon
- January 21, 2001
