So when I was in the sixth grade, I would say I was a very serious poet.

Sixth grade poet, okay.

I thought that I had discovered my medium, like this is how I was going to express myself to the world.

Okay.

So of course, when a poetry contest was announced at school, I was like, this is it.

You entered.

And of course, I won.

Of course, you won.

So my parents drive me to the local Barnes and Noble where the award ceremony is being held.

And we walk into what I would say is a stage full of five and six year olds,

reading limb wrecks about friendship.

And it's immediately clear, oh no, this is a contest where everybody won.

I am not special.

Oh, don't know.

You know, and it wouldn't have been a problem if I hadn't been going through my dark phase.

An emo phase.

An emo phase, exactly.

It's that phase where everyone thinks that in order to be serious and important,

you have to be as dark as possible.

Okay.

So the poem I had written was about a heartless CEO of a company who accidentally shoots his

only friend in the world, a dog on a hunting trip.

...