THE CREATURES IN MY HEAD

THE CREATURES IN MY HEAD

Three creatures came to visit,
they crawled out of my mind,
one wore a green old helmet,
the others trailed behind.

The purple one was staring,
with two enormous eyes,
he said he’d eaten Tuesday,
and swallowed half the skies.

The pink one stretched forever,
like chewing gum gone wrong,
she wrapped around the others,
then started singing songs.

A tiny green one whispered,
“I live beneath your bed,”
I told him, “That is useless,
there’s poems there instead.”

Another little creature
had eyeballs made of rain,
he said, “I lost my marbles,
somewhere inside your brain.”

They wriggled through my thinking,
they bounced around my dreams,
they painted all my memories
in purple, pink and green.

I tried to send them packing,
they simply shook their heads,
then built themselves a palace
inside my tangled threads.

So now when I write poetry,
they sit behind my eyes,
throwing strange ideas at me
and wearing bad disguises.

Perhaps I should be worried,
perhaps I should behave,
but normal is too boring,
and weird is what I crave.

So if you see me smiling,
when no one else is near,
the creatures in my head again
are whispering in my ear.