The Mind As A Slave

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  • Published: 12 Feb 2018
  • Updated: 22 Feb 2018
  • Status: Complete
All my life, I've been a slave since I was fifteen.
Then, age fifty, and I'm still livin' the same life.

Now, age ninety, and I'm able to tell my story.
This is my mind as a slavery.

A story for Black History Month.
I dedicate this story to my father. Love you, Daddy!


2. They Don't Understand

People don’t understand the life I had to live.
The life that was full of nightmares and terrors.
They tried to make excuses for us folks.
But they didn’t have to live like this.
They don’t want to understand.
“At least you was alive,” they say.
“At least you had food.”
“In the holocaust, they barely fed them people.”
We the same thing! We went through the same process!
Theirs might’ve been the worst, but it was all the same.

If they’d understand, they wouldn’t have a reason for everything.
They should be thanking us, for cleanin’ up they sh** without hearin’ a mumblin’ word come out our mouths.
They should be rewarding us for washing they clothes and feedin’ they chilren without any complaints.
They should be praisin’ us for bendin’ our backs in the scorchin’ sun, pickin’ them damn cottons, pricklin’ our fingers.
They should be on they knees thankin’ us for doin’ e’rything for them, even when they beat us till we was black and blue.

They just don't understand.

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