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?

Hughes wrote "Harlem" in 1951, and it addresses one of his most common themes - the limitations of the American Dream for African Americans.

I personally love this poem because not only I’m from Harlem, its because I have dreams that America needs to know. I know there’s limitations in America, but we need to break those limitations for the greater good. We need to rise up against corrupted people holding us back. We need to fight for our right to be free!