coming of age
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I looked in the mirror and began to cry. Not ordinary tears but ones of deep sorrow. The kind that comes from generations of trauma. The ones where my ancestors break through And weep for me. A child of God. Their child. The fruit of their labor. The triumph among adversity. The culmination of centuries
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Her eyes were ember colored. They pierced me with an intensity that has never been replicated. It was nice to be seen for the first time and it felt as though she really saw me. She laughed at my jokes, jokingly punched me in the arm, and put her head on my shoulder as we
Trapped In The Margins 