The prompt at Writers island is
I stare at him
With a lump in my throat
It is hard to swallow pride.
It always gets stuck.
Making me choke
On the words I want to say
My eyes beseech, beg, plead
What I want to articulate.
He condescends instead
And asks “Why are you like this?”
“Why can’t you be normal?”
What is normal? Whose perception defines normal?
Can’t he see that he means the world to me?
I am screaming now but wordlessly.
His words clinging to my throat.
It is hard to swallow censure too.
But I want my second chance
And I am willing to pay any price
To get it.