Normal

Am I normal now
or just less afraid?
Was I ever normal,
or merely well-behaved?

Is normal a place
or a story we tell,
a line we pretend
we haven’t crossed yet—or fell?

Does normal expire
the moment it’s named?
If I touch it once,
will it ever be the same?

What is normal, really—
a cure or a lie?
Something you keep,
or something that keeps slipping by?