Sensitive Mad

Being sensitive,
meant all my senses were alive,vibrant and kicking,
perhaps more than anybody else,
I could see more,
perceive more,
hear more,
and think and correlate more,
what I did not know was that I could turn a toy,
a toy to play with and pass time,
soon enough I turned that,
a set of insensitive souls,
fed my senses more and more,
they let me think and correlate,
on all that they had fed more,
soon my systems cracked,
and my sensesss broke,
they correlated garbage in garble,
and finally broke down,
a sensitive soul had lost all senses,
and now was branded "mad" by those insensitive souls.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.

Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace