You will call me crazy with that tone, your tone, a deliberate groan about my existence.
You’ll mock me for my habits, my art. My habits, my mindspace. I don’t want to say I’m sorry when I’m not. I’m not sorry about who I am, not anymore.
You’ll call me crazy. How can you name me so simply? Swiftly calling me crazy, a word that wouldn’t sting like a thrown stone if not for your tone.
Your tone, a cumbersome and deliberate groaning on about small somethings, reminding me I’ll fall short.
Subtle creature, mind your pace.
There’s no reason you feel for me to come undone. If I could only reason like you, be more like you, I’d be safe and wiser, too.
I’m shuffling around this house, my room avoiding the other complacent insomniacs that live here.
I don’t want to be awake and roaming but sleep is evading me as you’re condemning me for being unable to sleep.
Writing, my solace, could possibly lull me into a calm sleepiness. I’m hoping for sleep as I’m tireless in my motivation. Writing so fast, the words are almost illegible.
I cannot sleep, perhaps motivation and art want my company.
Dawning Creations 
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