Standing in the doorways,
In front of the bathroom mirror,
There stands an apparition.
It looks likes me.
Its sadness mirrors mine.
In shadowy corridors;
In the darkest corner of the bedroom,
There weeps a ghost.
It weeps silently while the house sleeps.
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Not concerned with propriety. Liberation now. Contrarian by design. Black mother. Somebody’s daughter. Guerrilla in the mist. Imperfect Christian.
