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My ancestors ran
Thats why I'm not American, or British, or Jamaican.
it's because, they ran.
Away from the slave traders
away from the greedy chiefs who clinged glass with the slave traders.
They ran...
That's why I'm sitting on hard bench with no money and wallet
That's why i will go home after writing this poem to no electricity
and no water
and no polony.

My ancestors ran,
that's why I'm a coward and I'm alive today.
Because great great great grandfather slept in a cave instead of die in a slaveship.
Great Great great grandfather would have won the marathon.
Great great great grandfather is a hero
because he ran.
blackbiird Sep 3
Poetry feeds my soul
like a needle feeds the thread
upon which you have sewn
your ruby-colored letter A
across my heart,
marking the shame that
I must carry each time
you tell me you love me

and I’m a slave
to you.

there’s no release
no release from the
purgatory that you’ve
placed upon me.

Food for the soul
(I think maybe I am your slave).
Eliza Sep 2
if there ever comes a day
where i am no longer my own
you don’t have to **** me
for i will already be dead and gone
if there ever comes a time
where my thoughts aren’t mine
and my manners are set standards
i will be sold away like canned dirt
realize you’re a slave to your mind
Pooja Jajoo Aug 8
She's breathing her life in limits
She wanted to be free.

She isn't herself
but a slave.

She's breathing her life in limits
She wanted to be free.
She wanted to be free.

-Pooja Jajoo✍
Emotions
Tears
Cry
Was all day affairs for her..
That shackled soul
Wanted to flutter in the wind.
But enclosed inside out.

A life from Home to School, School to Home
A life from Home to College, College to Home

A life of Entertainment wasn't her part..
Those Rules, Regulations, Restrictions always made her stop.

Is she was the one to choose it?
NO
Is she demanded it?
NO
It was the life which she saw by Birth.
Arisa Aug 2
free spirit bound tightly.

the equivalent
of keeping a wild tiger
as a house kitty.

you may gag my mouth
you may bind my wrists
you may stimulate
you may penetrate

you may humiliate

but though i am your slave
I am still my own master.
OpenWorldView Jul 12
made us money slaves
control our narratives
divide and conquer
we live in a crazy
nearly surreal time
it plays like a bad movie
in front of our eyes
YAYATHI Jun 7
I am the body sans its soul
I am dressed in fancy work attire
I glow like any gentleman's body
I look like the master of my world

I step into the ergonomical work world
Only that in real it's a glass walled Colosseum

There is a Caesar up there in a throne
There are lot of cheers for me
But at the end of the day
I am just a slave dressed up as gladiator

The arena is set; mud covers yesterday's blood
Gods of the sky, be around
Soak up my sweat if I live through the day
Soak up my blood, if I dont make it that way.

The fight is on, villains galore
Sometimes they are the warriors dressed up in gold
Some times they are the monstrous beasts thirsty for my blood
Either ways it is a battle for life and bread.

The day is coming to close..
Doesn't matter whether I win or lose
I end up kneeling down
At the end of Caesar's throne

What will the Caesar do now?
Doesn't matter any how
I have to return here tomorrow
Without my soul in tow
Jose Valle May 19
My fallen heart
Pantheon of my supreme devotions
Columns of my fortitude
Where is my stance?!

A fist of wrath ripped through the floor where my certainty stood once
The rugged fingers of my aptitude
Squeezed the mass of my inspiration
Dismembered poems float the river of no return
But in my quiet disposition
I write again

Jose Valle
alasia May 4
I feel as though I am a slave to destruction, knees nailed to rickety floorboards that creak against creation. I am head bowed, pleading for pleasure against the cacophony of the ******, washing white floors with grime. I am the harbinger of ends, an omen of unhappiness. I am question marks, red streaks, spilled coffee on loved words. I am torment, tormented by the ways I’ve been tormenting the things I love. I am oceans inviting and striking with no warning, hurricanes gently shaking before swallowing and devastating, promise land offering refuge and whiting out identities because nobody gets to be free. I am shackled to remorse, self hatred, anxiety. A prisoner of pain, daughter of broken glass, born in spider breaks, marked by shards and splinters. I am the whisper of ruin rattled through crows calling home across worlds and realms. I am jutted bones cutting into flesh collecting blood for breakfast and sorrow for supper, feeding famine to families I am familiarly unfamiliar with. I am cast away, fallen angel, victim to the rise of hope and sequestered from safety. Left to forage fight in fields long forgotten, to discover decades of indecency and be punished by punishing the lucky ones. The thinned wrist souls slipping from restraints, to make commodity of clear consciouses, and deliver doom promised by our ancestors. I am an agent of misery, a companion of karma, nothing more than a slave to destruction.
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