Reid@YWP

We,

The writers

The comedians

The storytellers

The artists.

We’re the ones who move forward.

We’re further than we were hundreds of years ago,

Yes,

But.

We’re not done.

I stare out of the car window, 

with my life anthem 

blasting in my ears, 

but not quite loud enough 

to drown out the sound 

of my dad talking to my cousin. 

It echoes loud when you call my name 
Hear it ring out from the inside 
Going back to that different place 
And I‘ll make it out this time 

I cry because my love could lose her livelihood for loving me and yet she loves 

I cry because to live is a gift I thought was a curse and now I refuse to die 

my hands curl around the flimsy plastic folds of my shopping bag 

as I walk home through streets tight and winding. 

it is a sunny morning, 

crisp and clear, 

and magic.