Sanity, as a form
of agreeing to agree,
is procrastination tourism.
Sanity is never really comfortable
as a home base
but always worth visiting
for the reduction of excitement
neutralized as worth.
Sanity is an over-achieving mirror
that follows you around,
giving constant flashes
of questioning self views
while nodding a battery of yeses,
even before the questions
are sensory then feedback.
Sanity leaves you
with no one to ask,
who is not going to play
a sensibility card,
in an “if it were me”
sort of protection style.
Sanity is a deference position,
guarding against
potential accusations
while terminating
further self inquires
that consensual reality
could ostracize and debunk.
Sanity is an etiquette
for judgment perspectives.
Sanity is a form
of self-confidence presumed,
where by you feel normalized
but in an essentially unshared way.
Sanity does not really have
an eye closely on the prize
but more so, has the intentions
to not loudly fart on the bus.
If sanity were a snowfall,
we would all be compassionate,
with care as our means.
But, instead, we name our shovels
in the way we classify our wardrobe
and over-grip the handles
of our anointed tasks.
Sanity is a meaningful pretend
as much as our driver licenses
validate our journeys through life.
Which leads me to ask,
why did sanity cross the road?
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