Poetry?

Once when I was naked I became utterly fascinated by the undulations of my belly as my unborn son moved within me.
You should probably know that I constantly promise myself that I will be a better parent tomorrow, and I constantly let myself down.
I remember when we moved, and I rode in the backseat of the van with my mother driving, and my infant sister strapped into a dresser drawer on the front seat.
Before I knew how to drive, I used to devote a lot of time to figuring out how to get my mother to drive me places she didn’t want to go.
My childhood was an elegant orange ten-speed bike that pinged as stones hit the spokes as I raced down dirt roads that really were better suited to a sturdy mountain bike.
I remember the awful pause after the minister said “as you stand before us, about to be married, think again…”
I’m not interested in how many times you jumped out of a plane before we met; what I want to know is will you still hold my hand, after all these years, as we walk down the street.
I remember the first time I felt a baby move inside me, and the hum he used to make when I fed him.
You should probably know that your commitment to learning will take you a lot further than any one thing you actually learn.