Girls in the Hood Step onto my block and walk these jagged broken streets and sidewalk cracks like rickety bridges across our backs to the ends of rainbows reflecting off broken glass where the pot of gold is way on the other side of this world. So we hood girls shout our pain into the megaphone wind hoping that it will carry our dreams to sky-scraping rooftops with radio towers broadcasting our tongue clicking, smack talking, neck rolling hip swaying, finger snapping sass through telephone-wire jump ropes while we skip to the beat of our own songs and count out the seconds, minutes, hours,
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