let me write my bad poetry and you can't paint the world whatever color you want

when i read poetry,
feel the soul of another reaching out,
through the dead trees of history,
i remember what my goals are,
where i'm longing to go,
what i wish to become,
to have, to know,
and i realize:
my gosh, i am pathetic and i will never make it.
but then my ADD takes over and i run
to paint circles on my belly.

last night i took nyquil
and woke up in the dark
to find an alien had taken over my body
and i had six fingers on my right hand.
i fell back asleep, only to awaken again to find:
i'm insane and drugs don't help that.

i think i'm in like.
with you perhaps, or maybe you.
no, wait, that's it:
it's love.
the feeling down my spine,
the glow in my cheeks,
the wit on my tongue.
that's love, and i like it.
can you be in like with love?