When Do You Confess?

So this poem, is something I think about a lot. Telling people I have MI is hard, Living with it is harder. In the end, there is only love. I wanted crazy in this poem not to be an identifier rather something we hold; therefore I used ‘your crazy’ rather than ‘you’re crazy.’
Here goes:


When do you confess your crazy to them?
Do you do it on the first date?
As you converse about small topics,
Is that when you drop the bomb?

Or is it when you’re walking down the street with them,
Talking to them…
Only to realize you’re talking to them and not them.
You know, the people in your head?
Not the ones out.

Do you tell them your crazy while you text them?
Over the phone everything seems normal,
But on your side you’re sucking a binky
To soothe the two year-old part,
Who is climbing out of her crib,
Out of her room
Exposing herself, taking you over.
Is that when you tell them?

Do you wait until they confess their love for you?
To let them know that there are 21 others inside of your head?
There are 21 others outside your head.
21 bodies. 22 if you count yourself.

When do you confess your crazy to them?
Do they have to know?
After all, it is YOUR crazy.
You own it. All 21, 22, maybe more.
But if they come out,
Your little crazies, your little heroes, your little savages –
They’ll have to know.

So when do you confess your crazy to them?
Maybe as the sun sets,
And the light beams through the window,
You both sit down to dinner
Only to swallow uncomfortable truths.
Is that when your confess your crazy to them?

Or maybe, just maybe.
You confess your crazy, at an open mic.
You read a poem, and another and another.
Only to say, I want you to know who I am.
Please accept me for me.
Accept me for my crazy.                                                         (cdk)


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