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I was dead on this day last year Numerous cuts, tubes all over the body The tongue was sticking out to the throat.  My mother was crying, children were shocked
    Playful naughty girl I was an innocent age, I committed many crimes in my life But I could only get through  Because of my innocent age. 
  They are someone's mother Like our mothers, they also gave birth to a child Maybe they dreamed that  Their child will take care of them in old age
  If I survive in this journey, I will gaze at the world through; your eyes. Left evil, All the best elements of the human inner will search
Will You Read to Me? by McKinzie K. Smith   Will you read to me? When I am young and don't understand, When I am just learning.   Will you read to me? In that perfect voice you have,
 A thousand heroes Standing tall, A thousand heroes Together fall.  From beneath the dusty, Yellowed pages Charge these warriors Of varying ages.  United they stood,
It's alarming The statistics we find about: test scores, teen pregnancy, underage alcohol consumption. Because ladies and gentlemen, two of these are shooting up more regularly than
Sometimes I can go weeks without remembering   Why I write Why I jumble some poetic words and propel them into flight Off my fingertips and onto the screen Where sometimes while reading them I growl or beam
  Illiterate. Consider it. Unable to understand it. And so unable to be moved by it. Then how shall the children be moved Lord? By the birds? By the bees?
What once was three-fifths is now one whole. What was once whipped and chained lives in my soul. I write because I can.
I write Not for praise or for achievement but because I can, and knowing that is power in a world where secrets clear as day find their only fortress in letter-speckled pages on the sturdy shelves of the educated
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