I’ve been selling things for a long time. I was the one rounding up my family’s junk to become another’s treasure in our first and last yard sale, the one begging mom at age twelve for $100 to buy the beeswax I needed to make and peddle lip balms, the one who, as soon as I was old enough for a credit card, signed up to sell jewelry at an online craft marketplace, the first of its a kind and a revolution at the time. I wasn’t particularly crafty; I just really liked making and selling things.

I have officially been a writer for a couple of years now but not necessarily a poet, even though technically I have this past week just launched my first collection of poems and I have made at least one sale, which, I guess, means I’m technically a poet. Hurray?