When I was a kid, I was bullied.

What actually happened is kids said words.

And then through my kid fears filters, I created a story called "I'm not good enough."

What a story indeed.

The main character rides around the block in a beat-up green bike.

Now, it's much easier.

I simply bully myself.

I'm bullied waiting to happen.

Not by you.

Or them.

But by me.

Harsh self-criticism.

Everything I do coulda-woulda-should've been better.

I'm perfectly happy with others.

They do just fine.

I give them plenty of room to be.

But not me.

I've gotta be perfect.

I have heard the call.

Perfection or perish.

But this time I didn't heed the call.

I laughed at it.

I laughed at this hilarious story entitled Poifection.

For heaven's sake, I laughed at that nonsense.

Laughed at it with my open heart.

Laughed at it with my quiet head.

Joined the perfectly imperfect festival.

Laughed so hard I felt bliss.

I feel bliss now—I feel it all.