My shit is dark… that’s what they all say;
Why can’t you write about daisies and hearts, about love and happiness?
So dingy, so dank, mopey even.
Who says that I must conform to your idea of normalcy?
What is normalcy?
Who says I must be like you?
Who says I must be like them?
Did you give me something good to write about?
My shit s dark… but how do you know?
What is your yardstick for judging me?
Am I too gloomy… too gothic?
Do I see only the negatives around me?
Do I ask too many controversial questions?
My shit is dark… but you must remember
That light cannot exist with darkness, or darkness without light.
Oh how my shit is dark… but I love it just the same,
I twirl in it, dance in it; come alive to my dark shit;
I love to feel the rush of emotions
When I Penn my darkness on paper;
When I put down my random, schizophrenic thoughts.
As I rock back and forth chanting the same ole thing,
“My shit is dark” “my shit is dark”
Caught up in my ecstasy
I can’t help feeling how dark my shit really is.
Yet, it’s me… my reality, my life, my past, my existence.
I don’t ask you to dissect it,
Just to accept it… because this dark shit is me.