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(Un)Spoken Territory

dd
Jean Boampong
August 6, 2013
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The rhythm of thieves and killers plays in my mouth every day,
blasting colonized letters up my throat and
Piecing my words into grave reminders—
breathing my mother would invite me to doom.
I would never speak for myself again.
Like a ghost, I wish on midnight stars
that I could poison my bastard tongue,
ridding its rule from my spirit.

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Filed Under: August 2013, Shorthand Tagged With: Jean Boampong, poetry, Shorthand

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