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  • Recently news of the site's transition to a read-only archive saddened me. I have so many drafts of experiences I wished to share. Nonetheless, I wish to thank the site for its opportunity and the community of writers with their vibrant stories for having such an impact on my imagination.

    This here is an ode to me, Austin Miles Anderson.

    His voice.
    His hair.
    His skin.
    His breath.
    Silent struggles.
    Loud cries.
    Tempestuous envy.
    Tear-heavy eyes.

    A boy still growing.
    Yes, a fraction of a man.
    With so much to learn,
    Far more to gain,
    Experiences waiting to be had,
    History ready to be unlocked,
    Knowledge yearning to be obtained.

    Cease your crying boy,
    For your struggle has made you mighty.
    Cease such thirst for knowledge boy,
    For the fruit of the brain comes in due time.
    Look out, look out,
    Have faith in the your future.
    Reach for the stars,
    Those lights illuminating a great day.

    Years ago beside his bed cried a vulnerable dark boy,
    His eyes poured from a feeling of hopelessness.
    He, on that day, declared to himself life would not improve.
    As a result of such pity,
    He no longer wanted to live.


    You are your father's son.
    You are your mother's son.
    You are your sister's brother.
    You are the product of rich ancestry.
    Within you is written the story of a thousand kings and queens.
    To songs of freedom must you walk with a head held high.

    From the womb of woman were you born.

    And to your lineage do you owe your life.


    Photo: MOTHER, high school prom with date, 1988.
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