MANIC

It's what they call people

Whose brains won't leave them alone

Whose thoughts keep them up in the night

Whose heart lies in eternal angst

manic.

It's what they call me

Because I like blood

And I want to wear it like war paint under my eyes

Because I want things

Not beauty or submission

But power and swords and strength

And I am a woman.

They call me that

Because there is a fire burning in my soul

And it is not quiet or shy

But roaring crackles licking the sky.

They want me to apologize

To bow my head

And take my place in the shadows

But I'd rather be called

MANIC.