Crazy

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Crazy.
Everywhere I go.
The things I see.
The things I hear.
But nobody listens.
No matter how loud I talk or how I explain it.
Crazy.
They never say it but they don’t need to.
I see it on their faces.
In their eyes it hides.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She has to be lying,”
But I’m not lying.
They talk to me and follow me places, the things I see.
They tell me things I don’t want to know.
I cover my eyes and hide but they stay.
The girl who hears and sees things that aren’t there.
“Ignore it,” they say but I can’t.
Every minute of every day they watch me, follow me, whisper to me, and call me names.
They run in front of me or watch me from the shadows.
Crazy.
The girl who sees the dead.





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