Hate was the darkness tied in thick frayed ropes smothered in kerosene swung over the biggest branch and wrapped around my throat while strangers pulled and tightened it.
It was the match lit that **** fire. Their rage burned my skin while choking me out like a sadistic wrestler.
It was branding and dismemberment. All those children remember it. It was little trinkets of remembrance, bits of flesh, and teeth Any part they could take of me before and after I hung lifelessly from the most convenient tree.
But if you think this is just some case of dark skinned history Then check the news and you will see they are still lynching me.