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Dear Ani, Ani ohev at. Hebrew for "I like you". I struggle at learning languages, Illiterate until the end of second grade, taught myself to read, taught myself to write.
Dear Mr. Poet, It has been some time since we last spoke. I still remember your words of budding integrity: "To be free Is to be most present and vulnerable, with mind, body, and deed.
My afro is big My skin as dark as the night I’m black and I’m proud
Careful, don't stare. It isn't you in there. Don't look at the fatal imperfections, they aren't really there either. It's an illusion, its not made to show you the truth.
Everything you went through, It is okay, All the pain, the feeling of being worthless, It was okay, Sitting in the dark drowning in your tears, It is alright, Hurting yourself to ease out the hurting,
When should i tell you That the young girl smiling at you across the table Kissing you between popcorn kernels and movie scenes Is made of glass And when she falls for guys, she always cracks