I am from

February 21, 2017

I am from a crooked street,
with bullets at our feet.

I am from the absent parents,

and mouths to feed.

I am from faded people,
with fake smiles.

I am from a complicated family,

of skin and bones.

I am from pain,

as the whip strikes my spine.

I am from a family that starves,
yet feeds the ones on the street.

I am from the fortunate and
fortunate for a place to sleep and
the will to perservier.

I am from the cigerete burns,
and lifelong scars.


I am from a rarity.

A type of uniqueness that's

I am unimaginable.

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