I was funny.

More funny than cute.

A girl named Dana called me ugly.

I was good at making my friends laugh.

Good at distracting the bullies with a joke.

Constantly trying to survive another day without getting beat up.

Pleasing others.

Vulnerable.

Leaving the present moment to escape.

Maybe powerful belly laughs could bring me back to the present.

So I tried to create thunderstorms of laughter.

It worked.

I survived.

I thrived.

I'm here right now.