they sat at the second table from the left.
four girls; one with curly hair to her knees, one with a heart for running, and two who love basketball.
I tried to fit in.
I failed.
a poet is not a dancer.
a poet is not a runner.
a poet is not a basketball player.
a poet is a poet.
I hated this table.
it gave me chills.
I walk past the table, because they cannot hurt what isn't in their reach.