It’s Normal

Normal as a cherished heirloom passed down through generations.
Being a woman has always come with its expectations.
We fold our pain down neatly into something that’s polite.
Come on little one, smile, you must learn how to do it right.

Yes, it hurts, but it’s okay, we all feel that.
Listen to the tick echo deeper as the doctor just looks up at the clock.
I feel like I’m drowning, but “it’s normal” is all that’s said.
I can’t live like this, but I guess it’s all just within my head.

But when you’re told that it’s normal,
How do you gauge when it’s not?
When others deal so easily,
And it’s normality is all the assurance you’ve got.

You learn how to swim, how to turn pain into something polite.
How to flinch without moving, how to keep it hidden out of sight.
You cry without a sound, making it look effortless.
You get skilled at breaking down without leaving any evidence.

We learn so early the art of suffering small.
Get up again, don’t you stumble on that fall.
We bite down deeply on silent screams.
And keep moving forward, as the pain breaks apart dreams.

And when normal actually isn’t normal they ask why we never spoke.
How we carried the fire, how is it they never saw the smoke?
But when you hear that you’re fine over, and over again,
You just get better at holding it, and accept it will never end.

TB💞

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