In the world of lines and curves, I was questioned at the doorstep, "Are you a line or a curve?", I decided I was a curve, and they let me in in the group of curves. Somebody asked, "Why is your curve not curvier? You must go to the lines instead." I said, "Fair enough", and moved over to the group of lines. Somebody said again, "You are too crooked to be a line. Go away!" Disappointed, I realized I had nowhere to go. There was no group for me. I was a curvy, crooked line. I was a "******".
Then, Along came a curve, and a line, They were curious of what it would mean to push their boundaries. So I asked them to hold hands. And suddenly I realized I was not alone. I held their hands too, and we were transformed, We wriggled and jiggled, and broke our molds, And formed a perfect circle. From our imperfections. Now I belonged somewhere. And I am not a "******" anymore.