My brain of wealth is often stealth a whirlwind I must seek.
To others I'm obnoxious and I spill no honored treat.
A justified illusion of the ones that think I'm fair
is coupled with embarrassment, an unkind glance or stare.
So off again I choose a path where I may deem myself
a little round the cuff and off the beam of mental health.
copyright 01-14-2009 ©® Sarah Sisson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem