When I was 13, Scholastic offered a small poster with this poem on it, along with with "Dreams". It still astounds me what extraordinary, incendiary subversion gets unwittingly passed on to children by otherwise soulless adults because it's "poetry". I hung this poster on my closet door and read it several times a day throughout my adolescence. Explains a lot.
A DREAM DEFERRED
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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