Poetry
Poetry
Poetry
one missile is a devastation. what are we?
learning that under the armor, everyone (can this be true?) is a beloved.
(celebrate, my dream is in the hands of my loved ones…plant that feeling under the others.)
there’s a black writerwoman named shonda and she has learned how to take my breath away.
nothing keeps away the memories when you’re ready you’ll remember what happened to (all) the children, you’ll ask why do we hurt little ones?
in nine days, no one with a backbone will pay their taxes.