|
|||||||||||||||
|
|||||||||||||||
|
|
Being normal
isn't right for everyone. I wonder who really is? Normal, that is. Or, for that matter, right for everyone. I don't even want to be even a stone's throw from normal. I think most of us are just good at pretending at what we think normal is... we're all making it up as we go along to get along. All according to what we think others want to hear or see. Memorizing the notes and the key to the right song. Even though we're out of tune. So what's honest about trying to act normal? Honestly, I don't believe there is such a thing. Normal has such a hollow ring. Its a carrot at the end of a big whack stick we strive for. But shouldn't. The interesting people are the "Couldn'ts." Those who don't fit in. Odd-jobs, the wild and weirdly eccentric, the ones with peccadilloes by the score, the penultimate nut jobs in the jargon of every day dullness. They're those who color outside the lines because that's their familiar stomping ground. They are the experts. They know the territory of not being considered sound. And they're alright with it. They're so used to taking care of themselves. Straying from the vicinity of normal for nearly all of my life, I at first, felt cheated. Like I bore some curse of maladaptive personality dis-function. I wasn't going to stall at their conjunction and wear a red tattoo on my forehead that identified me differently from everyone else. Changing my attitude, I adopted like a petulant orphan, making it my symbol of pride and honor. Lack of normalcy made me stronger. Once at a 12 step meeting I heard someone read aloud, "We only guess at what normal is." I found myself wishing he'd get his... that is, his bitter taste trying out normalcy. Conflicted, I was, at first. Then, I thought, who cares? And dodging, the burst of flame of false ambition that might have engulfed me, I flew from the meeting, phoenix-like. Shaking off the ashes of another's definitions. Avoiding a snare that wouldn't catch me. No more triviality. Ta-ta, good-bye normal. Let the unhappy and foolish pass their time racking their brains defining where they lost their lines. I'll pass my time being me. Outside of normality. Call me... by a name if it gets you by. I've given up the rat race of trying to try to fit in. I like the skin I live in. And being not normal. Copyright May 21, 2013 All Rights Reserved By This Author Melissa A Howells Meloo Tilt-a-World Reworked this today and added some teeth to it. May 22, 2013 Vote for this poem |
|