is it wisdom or fear?
coloring my
confused face
beautiful breath coming down
a wide smile from years ago.
There are ancestors
awake and whispering
Yes, Lord.
And I have been
pushed to breaking
I may be dead
if I continue marching,
solitary and strong,
rotting behind this battlefield
we call
ghetto youth survival core
I feel inevitable
the stray statistic
your arms,
your arms,
are they my shape?
Do you dance
or am I
just dreaming again?
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