If normal is relative
there is no normal
if I’m a relative to you
I’m not normal,
normally my relative,
no stranger to genuine sarcasm
or disingenius genius genes without pockets,
genes expanding like the jeans of Uncle Norm as he packs more
buttertarts into the blackhole he calls his mouth;
his girth expanding like the universe itself,
recreating new norms and molecules called Uncle Norm,
rippling fat at the bend in the nexus of the solar plexus.
But, fat is thin if you’re a Rubens.
You shoulda been born 400 years ago, chubs,
you’d be relatively beautiful.