Make Believe I've been calling myself a writer again, though I've no publications of note. My only readings are the public library kind, where anyone who's willing can try. I've been calling myself a writer again, even though I finished the draft five months ago, printed it out at three, and have only now begun to edit, with help of a guide. I've been calling myself a writer again, like a kid wearing mommy's glasses, in an adult-sized sequined gown, some gigantic silver shoes. The word is outsized on me, disproportionate, this close to a lie but in a way that to the mirror I can laugh, and say "cute."