Poetry Corner: Underground

Birthed into pain for something so beautiful and uncontrollable as my skin’s brown melanin stain and that glow of shellac.

From Sun up to Sun down our feet beat the ground as sweat and blood trickle a complaint never made a sound all four seasons, but to read and write were considered treason.

Master for none or any reason you didn’t work hard enough, master for to drunk and angry, one of his prized women purchased possession fancy glisten strapped to the pole 39 lashes rip and shred my back.

Something so small and minuscule give me and so many fuel to have knowledge a sin punishable by death my words give life like our lungs seek breathe, I reach out to expand our culture my little bit of joy on our rode I snatch at freedom.