Do you remember the time
Where you discovered that
You weren't absolutely magnificent?
I do.
I remember the exact moment.
I was six.
And when I was six I had this way
Of opening the car door from the inside.
I would pull the handle,
And kick it as hard as I could.
It was not very hard,
Barely enough to open the door.
I was only six,
If you recall.
And my mother saw me doing it one day on vacation.
And she told me
"If you kick that door one more time
I'm going to hit you so hard
You won't be able to breath for a week."
I wanted to be good.
I didn't want to be a child of Satan.
But two days later,
On the way home from the beach,
Eating a little bag of popcorn,
I kicked the car door open.
And I stared at my outstretched foot
In total disbelief.
Paralyzed.
And I realized I had failed.
And my heart flew out of my chest
And went into hiding in the tips of my toes.
And my eyes didn't well up with tears,
The welled up with the entire Atlantic Ocean.
And I just realized.
I had failed.
I did something very wrong.
I am not good.
I am a child of Satan.
I am not
I am not
I am not
Absolutely magnificent.