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January 2012

New Poem (Finally)

“But I want to run my fingers through it”


Baby
Baby
Our hair wasn’t meant for you to run you your fingers through.
The truth is we got those naps that
catch you that
stop you that
arrest you
Our hair is made to for you to put your hand
in and make you sit down and think
made to draw you in to caress made to
make you slow down and FEEL
where you at and who you with

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