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Don’t Talk. Don’t Feel.

Don’t Talk. Don’t Feel.

I feel it and I am going to talk about it. Bedford Stuyvesant, Brooklyn - โ€œBed Stuyโ€ Bed Stuy is beating up your mother and asking you, โ€œWhat are you going to do about it, punk?โ€ Bed Stuy is looking outside onto the street and in between patches of icy, crunching...
Our Father

Our Father

This poem contains content that some may find offensive. I donโ€™t want to be your hero. I was a child.I took a dozen lashes.Then stood up and said, โ€œFuck you.โ€ I donโ€™t want to be your hero. A heavy wet blanket of pain was draped over this boyโ€™s body.From the outside he...
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