You could be mad and unknown

You could be mad and unknown
Unhinged, and yet unheard, unseen
Genius undiscovered, mystery so wild
An insanity, child-like, that escapes unnoticed.

You could be grace in despair
Hopeless in simplicity; you know
All eloquence in words is survived
By the sadness kept in your eyes.

You could be happiness on crack
With a smile to allure and distract
No distress to deter, just joyfully demur
And a laugh both charming and shrill.

If you’re old enough to dream
You’re old enough for regret
That self-same conception
The self-made lie:
“All I could have been,”
“Oh, all I could have been.”