The Normals

When you have a disease,
you zone-in on that disease.
Picking out people like you.

Spot the tell-tale signs:
an unusually round face,
and a weird complexion.

A headscarf for the ladies.
A baldie, smooth as silk;
with eyebrows, refusing to go.

Not many people walk strangely,
until you do too.
Then everyone has a stick or a limp.

And human instinct can’t help compare:
oh that person is perfectly ok,
their cane barely touches the ground.

But with a wheelchair
and the withered legs,
you fold.

The normals ,
are zoning-in
on other normals.

Now its down to stuff like,
attractiveness and size,
and that great leveller: mula.

And you with the disease,
you can observe and watch,
the normals at play.

Content to be invisible.
On the sidelines,
safe from their triviality.

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