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Como tentar ainda manter velhos amigos? Estão parados no mesmo tempo ou se foram por outros caminhos.   Velhos amigos! Mantêm-se por amizade? Euforia? Ato de persistência?  
We don't want to see bullets. I wish I could see bubbles, On the double. Not devastation and rubble.   Kindness should be seen, not people being mean. The uncertainty in between
Where is the magic?We all start out knowing magic.We are born with hurricanesand whirlwinds, oceansand galaxies inside us.We are able to sing to birdsand read the cloudsand see the destiny
i  saw a little leaf to whirling in the wind,didn't want to fall from the treebut the leaf keeps falling over,i prop it up, it falls again .At the end, the heartbroken leafleaves a tear when it falls
And at the end, what?what happens to the living when they die?what happens to the tears when the eyes close?Where do the stars go when we don't dream?where the pain of memory goes?
Turmoil, It’s a-a-a word all too familiar to me The turbulent soul with hair like wood grain Sometimes Sometimes it’s more orderly, less entropic
Skin of bronze hair of cashmere I do what I want to I say what I want to say Born with heavy horns My hard head was inevitable   In the very place that passion meets pain
I'll make a castle out of you, Walls of bones and love and laughter, And I'll live forever after, And you won't even know,   As they sink you in the pit, As your lungs dry and turn black,
Here we flutter, soar, and fly Abuzz, for all to see, an iridescent sky Our pride, with which we manage, Asserting our presence, flags raised high,
One day the sky roared the ground shook  the veins of the Earth began to crack they erupted  the sky howled the once crystal clear waters were now replaced with tears of blood...  
September twenty second, the day this nation gave freedom to her black folk the day, every black man became free, but free..from what?  
Not today. I’ll do it tomorrow. Does this sound familiar? It’s what kids tell their parents. At least, that’s how it was in my household.
Informed; I pack my deserted island duffle bag Like Icarus and Sisyphus I set my feet to sand Action cannot exist as past, and my time is at hand Whether fall, fail or crumble I have nothing but my will
Hey! This is a poem that I wrote describing the unfair economic system in America and how I feel being a woman of color in the USA and the daughter of refugees.
Bring down the white flag and tear down the rails,
  It’s when autumn in its final throes surrenders and one morning you draw in a peculiar breath thick with frigid air that you realize the winter’s made its presence.
Money vs Survival
Money vs Survival Another worry versus another worry Seeking money to survive veruses just survivng Slaving away versus Living away Tears of hardship versus Tears of real life.
I step out of the plane Baggage on my right hand A bag of toys on the other. One foot touches the concrete. The hard surface onto the soft soles of my feet.
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