Stumbling over and around his words like a child’s building blocks
Trying to smile as he told her the fateful words ‘you are irregular ‘ not normal he kept back
Though his expression said it with one solitary glance.
Come through to the parlour he beckoned and try out your costume for the freak show
Attempting now to reassure her with phrases of ‘you should manage’ or ‘it’ll likely be fine‘
Without meeting her gaze.
She shrank in on herself, sure everyone could see at a glance her oddity, not difference, but flawed
Like the reject from the assembly line that got tossed in the seconds box, unfit for perfection
Unless someone was willing to ignore irregularity *shudder*
He carried on his conversation with himself , no chance to interject for her
And her head carried her away to where the clowns danced, falling over
To a place she wasn’t irregular , a second, or a freak.
She had entered the land of the other oddities and she thought she quite liked it.