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Comments about Libby Howard
My very first poetry slam I wore my hippest ripped jeans and a shaky smile too big for my scared shitless face-I was dressed to impress.
In the very last round a judge in a black hat and jeans gave me a 6.2.
I went home that night... glowing, beaming, pumping with adrenaline, knowing that I could improve, that I could grow up to be something more, something great, something powerful, that one day, if I worked really hard, I might be a poet.
I stand here now, three years and three notebooks full of sloppy metaphors later in front of five judges who would call me a poet ...