This is a fanciful little thing. It's somewhat of a tribute to the poets whose words are rattling around in my brain, alternately keeping me sane and driving me crazy. It's been through several incarnations but I think this is the final one.
Alter Egos
When I'm sarcastic I'm Dorothy Parker
or Edna St. Vincent Millay
I'm Dickinson when I'm lonely
and Plath when I have a bad day
I've never yet been William Shakespeare
although I decline to give up all hope
As I tell you last June, for an hour or two
I was macabrely Edgar Allan Poe
The inside of my head can get noisy
filled with poets who must declaim
Their verse at full volume and all hours
betwixt arguments of undeserved fame
But if my cerebrum lacks peace and quiet
at least in the din I'm not bored
So let me suggest - if you weary of rest
then acquire your own poetical horde
Bonnie, I agree; I'm certain I have a rabble of poets now residing inside my head. I really enjoyed this. I often joke that I'm channeling poetry a la Dickinson, Thomas.. (well let me have my little dreams anyway!)
I know just what you mean!