Love and Puds

I am sorry I don’t fit your conception
Of who I am
Or who I should be
Or who I could be.

I am sorry I offend you,
Because I am different people at different times,
A cheap schizophrenic,
Fueled by sadness, anger, mistaken friendship, hope, despair, and alcohol.

I am always impressed by how “academic liberals”
Who champion “diversity”
Have no tolerance for people like me
When we are not what they want us to be.

They disdain people for whom socializing is an Olympic event
A struggle just to finish.
They like people who are “diverse” in just the right way,
A way that makes the “liberals” feel good about themselves.

My love tells me:
“That’s the good thing about puds,
They don’t care”.
That’s why we have nine.

In a recent interview I was asked “Are you ever alone?”
I said “Never”, never anymore.
I am always with my love and my puds.
We’re  all curled up on a big bed.

The judgers and the judgments fade away.
And I finish the race in my own way.
Not necessarily in a good way and surely not in a better way than anyone else’s.
But in the way that was open to me.