The balance of my mind

My mind is unbalanced, or so they say,
and therefore they make exceptions,
but when I put shoes on the wrong feet for a day
they consider me
potty, dotty, bonkers, sad,
scatty, dippy, daft and mad.

And when I dance naked under the full moon
they brand me
round the bend, up the pole,
off my trolley, a crazy soul.

Finally as I lie on the winter ground to sleep
I am
deranged, mental, off the wall,
flaky, gaga, a real screwball.

What I try to explain in my naked,
(except back to front shoes way),
as I lie drowsy in the snowy field,
is that I'm a poet,
but they don't understand.

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