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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 22

This school year, I’ve taken fewer calendar breaks. It’s the holidays that have kept me going until spring break, which is this week. This break is supposed to hold me together until classes end. A point in the future which is near, but not near enough.

Break so far has been filled with more food than I expected—pho noodles for example. And as planned, several spectacular and sleepy dates with pre-calculus. The most exciting of the dates being today.

When I arrived earlier today on campus, it wasn’t a ghost town. I was taken aback. In fact, the motorcycle gang was at it again–NOVA motorcycle classes, of course. I briefly stopped by when something else caught my attention:

2013-03-12 11.28.50

I’ve been waiting for these buds to bloom for ages, and the rain knows how to highlight flower petals. Take this for example:

My absolute favorite shot from last year

My absolute favorite shot from last year

Of course, I’ve yet learned to dance in the rain, and if I’m ever out in a hard pour, it results in a story worth forgetting. Like strangers kindly asking to offer a ride, ill-chosen shoes soaking wet, squished and wormy earthworms, extra frizzy Claudia hair, and that one time last year: walking the highway home without an umbrella. Consequently, I prefer rain’s aftermath or light rain. Time periods in which I can look out for the small wonders of earth.

The raindrops on spiderwebs, glittering and magical.

The raindrops on petals, gorgeous and silent.

The possibility that something good is up ahead and the worst is behind.

And math might have been the something good today. I am undecided since I’ve never given math this much attention.

Colors courtesy of me, picky Mac, courtesy of newest math buddy

Child’s play materials, courtesy of me; picky Mac, courtesy of newest math buddy

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