I choke down normalcy like it’s tar.
My gag reflex reminds me that
not everything is meant to be accepted.
I watch the able-bodied go through
their lives and try to mimic their motions.
I never was a very good actress.
I’m left to wonder:
is it mania if it’s only on the inside?
What if I’m able to pass as normal?
What if I’m able to convince
a jury of my peers that I’m
just like everyone else?
Will that make me happy?
Perhaps my end goal shouldn’t be happiness,
but rather something more attainable:
like contentment or consistency.
I can’t accept normalcy;
maybe monotony is my best hope.
I wonder if everyone goes through this:
puzzling out which pieces of themselves
they should keep and which they
should toss into the rubbish bin.
I feel like everyone else gets to be
a two-dimensional landscape scene
and I’m stuck as a set of Lincoln logs
that’ve seen too many uses, but…
what if everyone feels that way?
What if we’re all Lincoln logs
masquerading as puzzles?
The thing about puzzles is:
you can only build them one way.
You can’t mix and match pieces
with other puzzles.
Lincoln logs, on the other hand,
can be built with other sets.
The packaging doesn’t matter
as long as you get creative.
On second thought,
I think I’d rather be the Lincoln logs.
Edited by Amy Owings