By: J.T. Liss
A weed grows through a crack
Of these sidewalks of pain that I walk on.
Through violence and poverty,
She slowly grows.
Layers upon layers of cigarette butts
A daily life of Harlem trench warfare,
A tiny bud forms.
A preview of all the beauty that could be.
Maybe someday she will become a flower.
I am hopeful.
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