I am from a dreamland.
My great land was diverse yet so grand as
the food and words were never bland.
The hands were rich with bands and rands,
built from working the same ground upon which we stand.
I am from a home that once spanned
prosperity itself; such a lovely
thing was a gift to our health. The sands,
skies, and seas could even hold the Heavens.
The trees used to dance in the breeze with ease.
I am from a dwelling of past envy,
but not of a hating feeling,
in the purest form, this was just only beauty.
But I am from broken societies.

Our hearts were bled dry
as we were taken overseas.
We prayed, begged, cried why
ever so loudly, but it was in vain.
I am from a place where our veins
still course with a saddened passion,
as a lack of love is our new fashion.

With sorrow, I am still from a life of death,
as their malice has never left.
Yet they still set us so carelessly upon the trees;
despite our screams and pleas, we
become the strangest fruits you have ever seen.
We have no identity and we have no names.
yet they still set us so harshly upon the pyre;
the painful extermination of desire
is a freedomless and killing fire.
Even our look for love is seen as theft,
and sadly, I am from where they even have my last breath.

I’m enslaved although I’m brave.
Pressures force my mind to cave,
in spite of my cravings to save
my slaving eyes from a shallow grave.

Bravery lies in the ability to not lie,
or deny reality, but to unshyly cry
in day or night. My eyes are bright lights as I
look to the sky and try to not die inside.
To be higher is to not look at danger and shy
from the fear of a freedomless failure. Braveness
is greatness; a courageous showing of patience.

It is the face of the heart’s race and pace
that is traced from a loving embrace of grace.
It is not famous or faithless, it is the safeness
to continue to another day. It is to sway, to stray,
to waver towards the unpaved way without fray.  
It is to walk on water no matter the weight, to say
that although we may be enslaved, we are brave.

Incision into the flesh;
It flows from needle to vein.
A murky river of darkness.
A never-ending cloak of pain.

Sorrow fades away
As it fills the skin.
Replaced by numbness
From within.

Ingrained, it stays;
Nothing erases it away.
Like acid, it scars;
Cutting deeps with every sinful day.

It seems as if it's poison
That trickles through the blood.
Ever free yet freedomless
Like a black-marked card.

The flipside of it all is hidden;
Small things in the details.
Look closer and see
What, in reality, it entails.

True fact shows pride
Of the work it has made.
Beauty to the beholder;
Heaven to the dead.

It lies in perspective,
What you see that's there.
A blessing
Or
A scare?