I stare through your reality
with one eye squinted,
occasionally twitching.
The spasms in my spine
trigger insensitive jibes
and stupid questions.

I never fit in
presumptions that I care
fighting popularity religion.

I am quiet
as I don’t want to speak
there’s nothing wrong with me.
I don’t smile
because this isn’t funny
there’s nothing wrong with me
nothing wrong with me
Nothing wrong.