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.
But by me.
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.