I was not Normal.

I walk the streets thinking out loud, and Some mistake me a lunatic. Past me, they turn to their back and watch, Their eyebrow raised in question. I flip my index finger to stress And a pedestrian stares, as though to doubt, shaking his head in disbelief. "What's wrong child? " one elderly is concerned. "I wonder " is all much I can manage. Young and the old, They pass by suspicion all over written on their faces. But my business, if not bothered, must go on. And so I stop, my footstep halfway, and think . Inside, I cant stop screaming for my audience isnt yet ready for me. I would soak the collar of my T-shirt but, She probably is somewhere watching. Mama believed men must stay strong. I think about normalcy, a mixture of envy and hate seizes me, and the beauty of it. I couldn't be normal if tried. My words, now reduced to inaudible whispers, They come back hitting and, as it were, either of my temple throbs. "Why must the sin of a daughter be inherent?" This, if not for the onlookers, would do well shouted. The fine things, I, like any other child, have dreamt of But the giver, not so generous with perfection, has extended that. which is just enough. My word- I'll fight to the end!