Actions without choice

Stackable poxy plastic chairs
pretend to be disco seats,
put a comb through your hair,
coloured lights on your feet.

Your suit is tailor made
for the trisomy chromosome
twenty one, never been laid
or gone out on your own.

You bit me as you kissed me
because you need to eat.
With a coke can on your knee
rocking just behind the beat.

A mouth held up by tongue size
frustration that wont mend.
Judgments made around the eyes
yet you still call them friends.

Growth delays a stronger arm
a mind that's mild to maybe
a baby still amongst the calm
you were sent and saved me.