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    Little sister poem. Be woke.❤️ #ajamonet #poem Found these wings on Sunday just strolling through DC. I’m reaching the part of the program where I’ve got so much good in my life but so much fear. When people ask me what my plans are for when my work permit expires, I kind of want to answer with silence and leave it at that. There’s no plan. There’s no plan for when that happens because something needs to pass in Congress before then. The longer the delay, the higher the chance there will be a lapse in a protected status or a  direct jump into being undocumented. There’s no shame in being undocumented. It’s just a really difficult path. Right now my hope is that people with wings, you know, permanent residents/citizens force their representatives at the state or national level to do something. I feel wingless right now. I mean, I’m entering rooms with sad poems in my mouth. I mean, I may or may not be spending a lot of time crying. I mean, I’ve got a job, poetry, bread, my mother, but no future and it stinking hurts. AND I wish I didn’t have to remind people that this is my reality, but I don’t see any new rages at society other than the regular fighters who have been fighting too too too long.💔 Practing my senses. 
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1,000 miles: step 21

Winter is coming to an end, and all the snow memories I’ve got are of angels shedding cheese. And oh, that awful snow storm that hit the metropolitan area—which by the way, was very stingy with Falls Church.

This is what I woke up to earlier this week:

2013-03-06 07.28.56

Foreground: my favorite instrument of education, my Chinese New Year’s chocolate–year of the snake, and dried roses I refuse to term rubbish. Background: big scary snowfall.

The earth’s climate is changing and in future decades, there may not be such a thing as separating the year into seasons. I believe that my generation will take on the responsibility for all the broken dishes our parents and grandparents have left behind. And I must also believe that the generations that follow will take on the responsibility for all things we don’t get around to.

For my part, I know how much I owe this earth, the only true home that any human has ever had. Yet, I never do enough. All my poems and all my love will never heal it. And so, I do my best to heal its people. From a damaged earth, it can only be expected that we have a damaged society.

We are all broken, breaking, or at the verge. We let our children fight our wars. And we start wars that kill children, so that our 24 year old babies go to battle, returning in pieces. We spill our twisted hate and fear, and it ruins our babies, so that our 20 year old babies massacre our 6 year old babies. And the weeks we are united are not enough to keep us together.

We cannot wait for tragedy to remind us we are all family.

Forget your labels. Forget your language.

Forget your status. Forget it all

but the sound of your neighbor’s heartbeat.

Because there is no hope for a society that is ignorant of its condition. With all our science, all our literature, all our mental superiority, we are clueless to the history our blood carries. And we must remember and rewrite the things that don’t fall into place. If all the years we’ve walked on earth have taught us one thing, it is that there is no returning to yesterday. There is only forward and the choice for change.

I choose love. I choose to go forward. It is all I have ever known. Spring, you are my forward.

2013-03-08 10.09.11

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