I didn’t know then what that meant…
So I did it.
To keep my tongue from moving!
And I believe this is when I began to write on walls.
My mother had to paint over them.
Since what I had to say…
Offended anyone who came to visit.
I was six or seven years old then.
A man in a little boy’s body.
And my mom took pride,
In how well my sister and I…
Were well disciplined.
But I discovered my mother in tears often.
With paintbrush in hand.

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