"That's the only assignment I'm going to read tonight, but I've got three more pieces to share because I'm not just taking the class. I'm an actual a poet."
Sometimes I wonder where she comes from. She's got bravado. Cojones. Her feet taste like a memory lapse that she doesn't walk on air. She can definitely tell who her real friends are, because they love her regardless. She can tell who respects her, because they introduce themselves even after she's wedged in toes, balls and arches nearly back to her uvula.