I started writing poems when I was fourteen because a girl hurt my feelings. Her name was Rachel, she had honey-colored ringlets, and I wanted to kiss her. As soon as she knew she could have me, she lost interest. However, over the next four years, I learned sarcasm, mistreated her, and got my revenge: the summer before our senior year of high school, I kissed her. We were sitting on a beach. Our teeth knocked together. Since then, I’ve been looking for something else to write about. Unfortunately, my parents and two sisters are sweet, unselfish people, and my childhood was spent catching bluegill and bass in the Little Harpeth River that ran through our backyard. If I don’t come up with anything, I may write copy for greeting cards. I hear the money’s good.
