The Smiler
I'm the kind of person who wears a plastic smile.
I act humble because I was trained to act that way.
I tolerate a lot of bullshit—from strangers, from friends—because I believe in this thing called "anger management." Spoiler alert: I'm terrible at it.
Sprinkle, sprinkle.
I hold in a lot of anger.
The only person who seems to pull it out of me is my mom.
She pisses me off like no one else can. And when she does, I snap. I say things, I get hostile.
But I love her. At least around her, I can be myself.
I don't have to act nice or overly friendly just to get along with people.
My dad, on the other hand, is always telling me to work on my communication skills. "Don't yell so much," he says.
But if communication skills were a phobia, I'd have it.
I'm awful at communicating.
Honestly, if someone gave me a penny for every thought I've ever had, the entire human race would probably hate me.
And you know what? That's fine.
Because if I died tomorrow, the human race wouldn't even notice.
The sun would still rise in the east. Whales would still, uh...have sex. (I think that's how it works? Anyway, you get the idea.)
But here's my go-to anger management advice:
If someone pisses you off, avoid them. Just steer clear. But if they force themselves into your space?
Okay, no, don't beat their ass. I'm kidding.
Violence isn't the answer.
(Unless they throw the first punch. Then all bets are off.)
In all things, try to be gentle and kind.
...Kind of a bitch.
No, wait. Just kind.