Maybe Other Writers Have Perfect First Drafts,

One Open, One Closed. It Was No Wonder That The First Image That Came To Mind When I Thought Of Either Of My Sisters Was A Door. With Kirsten, It Was The Front One To Our House, Through Which She Was Always Coming In Or Out, Usually In Mid-sentence, A Gaggle Of Friends Trailing Behind Her. Whitney’s Was The One To Her Bedroom, Which She Preferred To Keep Shut Between Her And The Rest Of Us, Always.

Don't Be A Fool. Don't Give Up Something Important To Hold Onto Someone Who Can't Even Say They Love You.

Once She'd Loved My Filet Mignon, My Carnivore Inklings, But Now She Was A Vegan Princess, Living Off Of Beans. She'd Given Up The Cheese And Bacon, Sworn Off Burger King, And When I Wouldn't Do The Same She Gave Me Back My Ring. I Stood There By The Romaine Lettuce, Feeling My Heart Pine. Wishing That This Meatless Beauty Still Would Be All Mine. She Turned Around To Go To Checkout, Fifteen Items Or Less. And I Knew This Was The Last Go-round, So This Is What I Said. ... "don't You Ever Give Me No Rotten Tomato, 'cause All I Ever Wanted Was Your Sweet Potato.

I Mean, To Me, Freaking Out Is Different. More Of A Running Away, Not Telling Anyone What's Wrong, Slowly Simmering Until You Burst Kind Of Thing.

Why Does She Have Wings?' So She Can Fly.