Lindsay Debrosse
I was always too loud. The curls of my hair always had a way of poking through the hard gel my mom tried to hold them down with. The frilly white socks with ruffles at the top itched my feet. It was my first day of kindergarten. “Okay, you can go over there with all
“Go, they said. It’ll be fun they said!” yelled Connor from the backseat of the car as he hit his face against his palm. “Oh calm down. It’ll be fun. I promise,” quickly responded Thad trying to alleviate his friend’s nerves. After all, it was Thad’s plan to go to the House of Fears.
I wrote this poem two years after the death of Micheal Brown. With the mass media’s coverage of the Black Lives Matter movement and the unrest happening in Ferguson, Missouri, I felt lost. I started to forget why we were fighting in the first place. All I saw were my people looting and destroying mom
