Too Much

"I'm so alive.
I'm so enlightened
I can barely survive
A night in my mind,"
Doesn't begin to touch
A way to describe
How much time
I spend thinking too much.

My poetic personality presents that problem,
Though my two-line-a-day habit
Is hardly too hooked to quit,
It's at least a part of who I am.

I was, before I wrote, but somehow less,
and if not more, as much a mess.

I grabbed the wrong plans,
Or Something's Missing,
Or some men just weren't made for kissing
(If you can call Telemachus a man).