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Grown Minors   by Jamal Ento   It started out at 6 years old
Cracking open a bottle of sun block My nose tickles at the sunny summery scent Mom would smear it on my playful squirming body Every scorching weekend my cousins would run over
She sits on a train, trapped, without power, Reaching speeds of one hundred miles an hour. Her future a dream, destination untold, All she knows is she’s stuck, there, on that road.  
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