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

being neurotic

in the best sense.