You might ask,
why are you so mean,
hating poor crazy people, I say
because they are stuck-up and pretend
to be more sensitive than anyone else,
me for instance, just
because I don’t sink into black depressions
or have giddy manic episodes where I travel
to Brazil and charge ten thousand dollars on my credit card.
Just because I never hear voices in my head
or feel spiders crawling up my legs or believe
someone is plotting to murder me,
doesn’t mean I am not just
as sensitive as a poor crazy person.
Even if I do not suffer from night sweats,
don’t wake up screaming, don’t cut myself,
or drink whiskey sours and contemplate suicide,
even if I just go about my days and nights
in the best sense.