By Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?
      Does it dry up
      like a raisin in the sun?
      Or fester like a sore—
      And then run?
      Does it stink like rotten meat?
      Or crust and sugar over—
      like a syrupy sweet?
      Maybe it just sags
      like a heavy load.
      Or does it explode?
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I hope you’ve missed me.
I’m done putting things off.
I’m done procrastinating.
I’m going to do better as a writer, blogger, journalist.
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