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I think these are the first three poems I wrote as the Uprising began. Before the analysis of what being a White Baltimorian meant in that particular moment, all I could really do was channel the pain my city was in. I became obsessed with staying out up until curfew, refuting the upsettingly off-base assessments of old school friends on social media, and just trying to set a standard for White presence when everything feels like it's on fire.

PDF icon 3 from Baltimore Burning.pdf