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Unordinary

They ask if I’m okay,
and I tell them “Just fine,”
not that I’m struggling and straining,
‘Cause that’s not what I’m supposed to say.

And when someone blesses me for sneezing,
I’m rude if I don’t thank them.
If I sit silently still,
then, my God, aren’t I an odd thing?

They encourage asking why,
and I’m bamboozled.
‘Cause I’ve been asking all my life,
never before feeling like I comply.

They seem to forget
how one may have been brought up,
how one isn’t allowed to question,
and each response means threat.

And I’m definitely not
dupposed to cry every day.
But keep it to yourself –
that’s what I’ve been taught.

They say it’s no mat-tor.
They tell you to suck it up,
Move on, which is as bad as
those who ignore.

I could ask why and question.
I could track the truth.
I could share – gasp – emotions.
Except none of that’s common.

But I realize: I don’t want to be anyways.

Never letting go traditions?
Always telling lies?
Too afraid to find out why?
Hastening the time?

I’ve never been this current.
CAPD had hindered me from joining.
‘Cause people hide behind beauty,
and they keep distant.

They say, “Oh, poor wilting flower!
Your leaves shouldn’t be so dry.
So engulf the roots! Drown the roots!”
…But, look, it died from access water.

Somewhere, though, strength can summon.
Somehow chains can unlink.
Someway the currents can merge.
Then all this could be done.

But that wouldn’t be ordinary.

I dare to ask: Why?
This time, I’m not just curious;
I fail to comprehend.



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