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Reads Poems

Reads Poems

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Souls of gray folk

Since my gig on the edge of the ‘hood,
when the brothers agreed this blue-eyed
devil wasn’t English, I’ve grown aggrieved

As my nation re-Segregates, collecting
in buckets of identity tied to skin, as if
Martin Luther King’s life was but a dream.

Honeyboy Andre Meade

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