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would arrive late, most mornings, and skip English
to hide in the center stall
of the darkest bathroom
because I knew, no-one would come looking there
re-reading the same book
and waiting for the bell that I would ignore
quiet as a small, dark tree
looking down at my awkward brown knees
tragically grounded to that very spot, yet
at ease in my privacy
because I knew one day I'd be a glorious force
of compelling words, and provocative eyes & mind,
and one day, I'd be so bright someone would tell me
I should stay modest and remember my roots, but
bitch, when I was seventeen
I did enough of that.
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