I was born free, indoctrinated into
servitude as a woman because of
my black skin.
Cruelty baptized me with a brand
on my torso.
Bound me and my kin in shackles
and chains like beasts.
Forced me to bend like a palm tree.
The blood stained whip descended
on my back and crashed my dreams.
Sentenced to inhuman conditions.
Spirit was broken, morally deprived.
My heritage rendered me inferior to
be repressed and oppressed.
A wave of euphoria filled the skies
as the ship reeled across the
Mediterranean like a drunk.
I dreamt of a new life in Europe.
Reality felt non fictitious with each
passing day.
Anchored in the lee of the port, the
21st Century lurk waited for us like
a stone.
The sight of my brothers piled up
like rubbish made my blood boil.
Fear barked like a stray dog, terror
ensued simultaneously.
History was repeating itself before
my eyes and i was terrified.
Freedom had forgotten my name,
painful reality sunk deep.
I was now a slave- lined up to be sold
on the block for just $400.
The ugly page of our dark history was
re-written with blood on the Libyan soil-
televised and shared on social media
as hash tags with my images plastered
on the world screen.
The scabs from the transatlantic and
Trans-Saharan slave trade haven’t
fully healed.
Yet, here i am reliving the horror from
past atrocities.
Braving the blows my ancestors took
just to dip my feet in this Heaven.
Being African isn’t a shame.
My black skin is not for sale.
My ancestors didn’t match and fight
to have me bound in iron cast chains,
and sold like cattle.
I am not for Sale.
©FloetryC 2017
floeticgibbersandrants 