I like people a little bit crazy

I like people a little bit crazy.
I like garbled speech,
disjointed thoughts, words skipping
like flat-sided stones on a pond,
a pinky that spins,
constant hand-rubbing,
angry invisible friends,
secrets they’ll tell you,
yellow teeth,
too much eyeliner.

Shrinks call it schizophrenic;
I just call it cool.

But I don’t like the homeless crazies,
the ones that want change,
or a place to stay.