Special

 

I tell myself am this,

And that, and that, and these,

I tell myself it’s me,

When a tragic tale upturns,

When that mournful tune burns,

And the theatre frenzy starts,

I tell myself it’s me,

That the cutesy actress wants,

That inside of me’s alive,

That irrational itch she feels,

I tell myself when I walk,

Down these dusty city streets,

That they’re ogling me they must,

That the knowing looks they pass,

Encode affection, passion, lust,

I tell myself they look at me,

Admire my silent psycho routine,

My shut-in, buttoned-up mystique,

I tell myself they think I’m smart,

Or maybe different, maybe rich,

I tell myself in just a while,

I’d be a guest on Oprah’s show,

Where everyone would stare in awe,

At Ace’s scripted jolly ‘lore,

I call myself misunderstood,

And typify my ways as genius,

I google Newton’s younger days,

And nod my head like, “That’s exactly me!”

I say that all that broke me then,

Just couldn’t stand a stronger mind,

I wake and sleep at 9 O’clock,

With satisfaction in my heart,

Now this’ my ritual every day,

I say that I’m the special one