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Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Devious

Checking Out

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home



Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month

Words

Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All Beings Considered

This Is It

Max on the max

I Long For Stars

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

If I Could Be The Sky...

It Feels Better To Be Unfinished (Wish-Unspoken, But With My Eyes)

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Approaching Normal , Then Veering Right


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





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