The cotton fields all in a white silky ground.
Sun flourishing on our skin as our flesh starts to get warm despite the cold blue night.

Spreading my arms, hoping to reach infinity, slowly awakening every muscle from my body.
Born with no choice, but willing to do it all.

Sunrise to sunset, I get rewarded with a delicacy of leftovers.
“It”, my enforced pseudonym.
“It” here, “It” that, “It” sold! 
Finally dragged from the parade, my own destiny placed in blindingly pale hands.
From here to there and everywhere I was worked, exploited.

My family, referred to as “Those”. No names, nothing to say or do, no opposing reaction, no identity.
The chains of despair thus thicken,
Handcuffs tied with our own helplessness
The weight of them with the gravity of inferiority,
Kept us looking downwards at the ground, our highest sky.

Feelings, What feelings?
The only driving force are “Those”, the tiny speck of light guiding me through the darkest days under the scathing sun.

cFreedom is the wind. We can sense its merciful breeze but never grasp it. 
The suicidal idea of escaping brought me to red tears.
Being whipped into pieces as red filled teardrops slide slowly down my back.
The choice was never mine, the choice was It’s.

No regret, no remorse, no intention, nothing to do.
Time will tell but in the meanwhile, nothing to do.
Back to stare at the ground, scraping at only dirt.