Wild Times

Sometimes I wonder if I'm just a psychotic accident. My ideas and moods changing faster than the seasons, almost as unpredictable as the weather. They take me by surprise. And then I wonder if others view me as this wild and crazy mess who doesn't act her age. But then I really don't care what the others think. They don't live in my skin. And they haven't stepped in my footprint. Perhaps they are the crazy ones. They are in need of deep therapy. Or maybe they should try wearing their hearts in a place other than on their sleeve, a place for no one to see but to discover. What is wrong with me? I can question myself and I do so a daily basis, sometimes twenty-four hour. And just when I think I know myself I find that I never do. Is it a form of growth? Am I ever evolving and actually succumb to the wild changes tormenting my need to be normal? Admit it. Yes, we all change, but only a few recognize the beauty of the tree growing inside the leaf. Only a few can smell the rain before it arrives three days later. And only a few are like minded enough to be called trustworthy in this realm of hysteria.