My poetry explication

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Class went well today. It started off with a series of therapeutic questions. Each question seemed to be more therapeutic than the other. They were asking about things I yearned to talk about with my family, especially my mother. It was as if the answers were waiting to be spilled out. It was like seeing the questions on the board was a cue for both the answers and tears to release. In fact, I cried while answering one of the them, and I will forever cherish that moment. I’ve been holding back tears all week and I finally stopped fighting. I was tired of pretending everything was okay. I was happy to have that slight moment of reality. Also Mr. Rease asked the class “ What does being black me to you”. I had so many ways to respond to the question, so I responded the most knowingly way to me. It means being criticized because of your creativity and uniqueness. It means being diverse and being both privately and publicly stereotyped. It means being taught over and over that my skin is be...
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