Whistling to the Blues.

Whistling to the blues.

I said a poem when the sun arose this morning.
It felt like the break of dawn at 9 am.
It is Saturday.

My spirit was filled with the beauty of my fellow BEAUTIFUL Brown Women and filled to the brim.

They were my village, and I their child.

Smiles were dialated as if no one was around to be a witness to teeth singing praises for anther brown girl has been found.

Little young Brown girl made the old negro woman smile. You were lost my child. Welcome to safety young lady but when you leave, this time we will be with you.

– Hrsh Reyalitee

(4.9.11)

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