People have defined normal
down to the way
we're supposed to breathe
in public restrooms.

I was normal once,
I breathed quietly in hallways
and pontificated
over social issues

I held my teeth together in lady like tension,
while those fired opinions around the rims
of cooled coffee cups.

I convinced myself I was laughing in between each clever quip
that fell from your mind into my air,
but I paid attention to the intrusion of my space.

I enjoyed the appearance of your split lips
over your neatly pressed suit
and I tried to breathe in the stories that hovered
around your hardened scabs.

wondering if someone had finally mustered up the courage
to knock normalcy out of your face
and leave it splattered
against a wall

somewhere,
someplace far
from your
briefcase.