brain hurting mad.

What would you like me to be?
I’m trying real hard to be myself
And you don’t like it.
Lest I should forget that all my words
Too hard to swallow
Are the only things that tell me in all the lost of
North or South or West or East,
That I still am
And still am somewhere
That I don’t mind being at all.
What is the difference if you like it or not?
I picked a life to become
And you said you wanted me but now you’re making me
Chili-tied, wide-eyed, brain hurting mad.
I don’t want a single thing
that’s so brain hurting mad.
And especially why
Would I twist and try
To be less of what I only know
of who I simply am
For a simple man
with an embarrassing shortage
of a half simple plan.