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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. 
#PoetryTAT #poettime
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The digital age is delivered through screens

lit brighter than the streets where women “asked for it.”
Your digital presence is filtered,
fitted to your taste of self-disclosure
to your choice of entering compressed pixels.
There is anonymity and there is
the illusion of a moment well-captured, well-lived.

There is loudness wrapped
in a tamed revolution of mass audiences.
If you hustle, you could become sensational
though you may lose sensibility along the way.

Then there is me,
stuck in uncertainty. Where to begin
when it seems I’ve been granted new courage
to say the things I leave unsaid in real time.
But to my words my name must be attached:

If I say I hate you
If I say I love you
If I say whatever, however, I should know
words can’t, may not be taken
back if absolutely spilled–heard, read, felt–
Must I not take ownership of my voice?

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