So she tells me

She tells me that I'm better then the box I have created
out of glass, stone, steel, brick,
cardboard, aluminum foil, gingerbread, feathers, and silk
does it matter what it's made of?

So she says I'm better than said box
the one I place myself in to prepare for whatever attempt
may be perceived as failure
If I'm better, it'll break
If I'm better
I will have no protection
and no box

I will be more naked then I've ever been
I will be vulnerable to every twisted judgment
I will get hurt
I will be very sick and very flawed

but is it peculiar that I enjoy that?
Is it strange that for once, I might enjoy just being
..
dare I say it?

Free?

Free to be mean, unnecessarily harsh, and defensive
to be awkward, strange, and say what I feel at the wrongest of times,
to be happy, upset, to be kind to anyone I want to be kind to,
but most of all
..
dare I say it?

To be me?

and for once, be okay with that?
For once, be okay with less than perfect?