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Seventh grade was a bitch.
Eighth grade even worse.
Older sister home from school.
English assignment.  Find a victim.

Write a poem.
Create fiction.
Inspire the masses.
Due tomorrow.

Her headlocks lasted precisely
the length of my resistance.
And I would write
as she would play.

A+. Insightful.
Ingenious. Incomparable!
The name Pulitzer
was whispered in the halls.

A year later. Same instructor.
I got Cs.
Needs work.
Ask your sister for guidance.