When I was a kid,
My mother took me to the doctor,
Not because I was sick with the flu,
But because I wasn’t
The other kids,
And what the doctor had said to her was
And rather than revel in full denial,
She wore her colors proudly,
And she joined an organization that
Parents of Exceptional Children
Later named Pathways,
And I know the word exceptional sounds special,
But every kids knows “exceptional” actually is
She didn’t realize that
Sometimes a kid just doesn’t want
To talk about it.
Sometimes to be fine means
To be fine
And everywhere I went,
Her presence was known.
So that kids
Who hadn’t the slightest clue
Knew I was
And she tossed me into the program
And there I was,
My only friends,
Those who can’t communicate.
And I know that
Every person who has ever tried to
Help these people
Has really taken pity on them.
I know, with eyes looking out of a window,
A cuckoo flown from the nest
That I wasn’t normal.
I wasn’t normal and I never choose to be
And there’s no more disconcerting a word to me
Than normal. N-O-R-M-A-L
To build a cage around your personality
So don’t take pity on me.
I am who I choose to be.
I love my abnormalities.