The New Yorker


A Poem

Brew coffee
Brush teeth
Make Bed
NPR
The New Yorker
All a dance toward
Daily readiness, residence

In a world, rogue with
Injustice
How is
Any minority population
Supposed to live in this?

As Americans have
Always suggested
“Accept our ways,”
“Get over it”

Well, not all of us can
Eat privilege
For breakfast

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An Essay on Normalcy

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Maybe I’ll Bloom