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Let Haiti be absolutely free Haiti is the father of Freedom and Liberty Haiti is the first nation to forever ban or abolish slavery
Unlike the south We are From the Congos We all emerged     -  Beautiful Our feet stamping the grounds and breath humming   With our tongues We spoke words that shocked the havens
slavery and torture is not for any mature or who is ill and not is cure its not for kids at all because they all are small ts like a boiling hell from where you hear yell
America is beautiful, great and wonderfulEadem opera, she is ugly, pitiful and dreadfulIn regards to the mistreatments of the Native AmericansThe African Americans and other minorities
Be not afraidTo fight the right fightsThe hate, the hatredTo regain your rightsTo end bigotry, racismFascism and nepotism.
Ayiti, Ayiti, Ayiti, peyi dè Mati Ayiti, Ayiti, Peyi Gran Esklav Ayiti, Ayiti, Peyi Nèg Brav Yon Oazi ke zòt vle trayi.  
Hell in Haiti, Hell in Hispaniola Hell in Haiti, Hell in Santo Domingo Hell in Bohio, Hell in Quisqueya
(This poem takes place in the year 1800)   You call yourself a Christian who has been saved. But you're not a Christian because you have slaves.
They're NEVER To Be FORGOTTEN... !!!!! The Sodden And Down Trodden... By The ILL Gotten... ROTTEN... !!! Enslavers And HATERS... !!!!! FAKE Claiming... “ Bravers “...
A slave in massas feilds and  a slave in massas sheets  His plae grown body pressed on her like cleats  His grip on her 14 year old body felt like  years of pain Weighing her down like heavy metal 
Sun cast black silhouettes standing proud on cement auction blocks Sweltering heat make dark skin sweat in mid morning dew
White snow But then, what other color is it? No, white fluffy lamb's wool Soft Oh Cotton White cotton They say it is the color of beauty Which means our brown fingers Picking it
You stand proud Overlooking an emerald hill Sloping down on a turquoise river In this front your windows shine Showing a beauty Your classical pillars Give an illusion of A fine education
To be a slave means To experience constant painWhile your masters refer to you with degrading namesTo be a slave means To be driven insaneUsed for profit in this cruel cruel gameTo be a slave means
From the trees we hung  in the midsummer breeze   Unforgivable never to be freed left with the scars where we were once kings   
  He played with me, Not knowing I commanded fire. He toyed with my hair, Hands so gentle yet eyes full of ire, Ogling who I have become, Full of desire, Seeking solace in havoc,
I have a journey in mind What can be sweet and kind About this world in which we live What does this morning give?
1865...a year of freedom Free at last! Free at last! I have a dream to be free From these cold chains of brass. Colored in bondage Bounded by ivory ignorance. Fighting for freedom is a crime
If the streets could scream we would hear them say Our history bleeds and reveals the world at play The little children running in fear With adults yelling in their ears "You were born the wicked race"
Power was not what I gained Rather what I used Knowledge was what I used And also gained POETRY was a time machine I wrote of the anguish of a slave To say he or she was not important
Slavery...the practice of forcing an individual to work, With absolutely no pay.Hustling early morning to late night in the fields,With undoubtfully no say.Day by day, the slaves pray,To make it out alive, knowing they must stay. Bull whips constr
Tread carefully in the forest, my dear There are spirits among the trees. Patient, uneasy, and waiting. They stay high among the branches or low at the roots;
My blood is a map that i cannot read. My skin a story in languages that overlap. My hair a crown to civilizations lost.   A sad thing it is not to know where you come from.
Struggling to survive in bondage to the queen of Egypt. As slaves do we render unto her a taxation of our time, possessions and even our lives. Her vain satisfaction has caused pollution in our oxygen.
I am from where you pray over every meal you eat - whether in your bedroom or the dining room table.  
Dear Slavery,   Chains, Whips and bits, All come along despite the lack of fits. To the extent of the unknown, The horrors that occupy a Bitter Sweet Home, Allow humanity to be free,
Can you hear me now? If you can’t I can only wonder how Why is it the only way to get your attention?
Away I run, To the land of the free, Where doors can be opened without sacrificing yourself for keys, Dirty knees, My girl back home cannot make money, Yet she is sold off and people think it's funny,
The Silent Parade Of 1917 Was Anything But Silent They Were Marching Because The Whites Were Getting Really Violent Physically They Were Silent But Mentally They Were Screaming "Please, Please Stop The Beating!"
Dear Malcolm,   In some parts of the world, Light shines brighter than in others, Shade-divided world.   Under bright light,
  Bleeding cries pulled tight with worn out laces Black-white-brown-grey hands weep red against the noise; Malice wears down buckled knees, thrashed faces
What comes around the cycle repeats around itself,    Escalation of time preceded by the focus of oneself,    Enough it has, enough it was, and enough it'll never be.      Why though ?   
From cotton fields  To bloody spills. From metal chains To metal clangs. We still can’t escape  Discrimination.   Started out with  “My color, Is better than yours.”
I walked below The neon lights. Dark sky flashed against the green of slavery. I puffed a cigar My jeans have holes My shoes are split like pistachios With my black socks
                                         You know what you did.                            You took people from there home land.                                   You know what you did.
for our past is a poem, murdered by the hand, of death, and our worth, diminished. Our hearts were wild, and free. Royalty! portrayed as a mere, fluke; death to them, they shunted; Pain.
The opportunity they give me are like the fast food handouts they pass out on the street. Profile me and see what I can be. Black and powerful is what I see. I'm more than a thing I'm a human being a heart and soul is what you can't see.
“That’s what America is about,” Carson said. “A land of dreams and opportunity. There were other immigrants who came here in the bottom of slave ships, worked even longer, even harder for less."  
"They too had a dream that one day their sons, daughters, grandsons, granddaughters ... might pursue prosperity & happiness in this land."  
7:53 The door closes behind me and I slip in, Unnoticed, hopefully, And granted free. Late.  They walk in late. "Sign the clipboard." Stamp of feet as the herd obeys.
You want me to pledge allegiance to the flag..A flag what’s patriotism should have disguised to meThat it was bred to
Master, Savior, Jesus By Alexandra R. Felder   I was dragged here in chains to be your companion, not your plaything Sold on the block as a child Bought by your father as a gift
Little girl on a hill, be still Little girl on a hill, be still For the shadows are here For the shadows smell fear. Little girl on a hill, be still Little girl on a hill, be still.
we learn to hate to slice and maime to choose our possessions  and keep souls bound and chained   every mortal wants to be immortal every one wants to be free what is keeping us so imprisoned
  We've been fighting for equality for hundreds of years My ancestors had to shed blood , sweat & tears for me to be here. The paths for others was clear but ours had a lot of debris,
Oh yes georganne I know that feeling too well That terrible treacherous feeling to live in hell.
Oh yes georganne I know that feeling too well That terrible treacherous feeling to live in hell.
From the street sirens to the gun shots, she was there. From the morgue to the funeral she was there. All I see are dark skinned mothers having to be resilient. While the father and son are gone,
I heard the hurricane  Felt the air pressure change Terrified for my crouching child Holding her as tight as I could Blocking her from danger As my master cracks his whip
I heard the hurricane  Felt the air pressure change Terrified for my crouching child Holding her as tight as I could Blocking her from danger As my master cracks his whip
Whips. They’re flames of hatred about his body; cutting deep into the flesh and making him bleed.  
Inspired by Imagination by Phyllis Wheatley. I wrote this for a class. It connect the struggles of people of color of the past to people of color today. I modeled it after Wheatley's poem in form.
Somewhere beyond the rainbow Beyond where streets are paved in gold Beyond where freedom’s gospel is quoted in stone
Sell my heart Highest bidder wins Auction my soul Money into the bin Keep me in rags Hold me prisoner Sell me for lust Market as torture
I'd rather be a free, black sheep of a soul or stiffer than a piece of coal than be bound at the neck, wrist, and ankles by the chains of labels and stereotypes
 Back then, I was the color of coal  
Slaves are recognized as property,
When the moon and the stars wept We all felt their tear Letting loose of all their fear Over all their trouble the sun slept Their reason we could never intercept On came the sun like a charging spear
I see the colors of black and white
The burning crosses flow through my veins Alloyed with the remnants of black berets and raised fists The screens glow with the tide of imminent revolution  A path marched Lives disposable
The poor pigeons coo
Shot in the streets like a non-memeber of humanity Arms raised, "Officer please don't shoot!" Sorry to break it down to you guys but justice don't always apply to the black group  
War War is a canvas, dastardly painted with crimson and black The air is polluted with smoke Ash falling like snow The deafening sounds of thunder Feels like a heart attack  
  It is useful,sometimes,to have an And Then, It is a more subtle heartbreak than a The End, And filled with more love than a full-stop.   We often think how rich we are,
We are trapped,  We are lost,  We need to get out,  But we do not know where we are, We are slaves to the rich,  Lets get on the piss,  Lets charge the gates of gold, Lets break te chains,
I want to be a slave. I’ll bear the mark of my master, I’ll wear the chain, I’ll cry myself to sleep at night, I’ll endure the pain, I want to be a slave.  
Hugs are weird Hugs are strange I do not want a hug No, no not now or later. The thought of someone engulfing part of their body around mines just creeps me out.
Our minds are being enslaved by whatever is being taught to us and we're just going with it ... because we feel as if our nourishment are in the hands of those who institutionalized us.
300 years of slavery, 300 years in chains, One hundred years of bravery, This finally led to change. Fifty years later followed Obama’s campaign, Somehow we are still scared from all the previous pain,
To the ones who have no voice, crushed under the heel of another.   I am always hungry, never satified. Somehow, a bowl of rice doesn't fill the void inside.
We as blacks Grew up with the struggle of the nation on our backs Being told that the skin that is attached to our bodies are a curse to our soul We believe that being different makes us a queer in our "group"
Sneakers, gym shoes, my father call them gymmies. Nikes, Jordans, Jays ; I love them Its funny;
Infatuated with ourselves We bath in crops of greed Sown through our hubris,  Ignoring the whelps of need.   A scourged culture, made To feast on each other obsessively
Don't ever give up. Where would we be if Abraham Lincoln didn't end slavery, fixing humanity as if it's a broken cup?
You call me ya nigga Well, check this out If I’m your nigga I can’t be your homie If I’m ya nigga I can’t be your man If I’m ya nigga I can’t even be your friend Not because I don’t want to
A Meaning LostWe were the beating of drums, The beating of the sun against  The backs of our people. We were the red of river banks,  The green of grass, the trees, the leaves.
They look at me with eyes of animosity,Trying to make sense of my feelings,I refuse hugs, kisses, and smiles,Why can’t I love?It’s a complicated process,And very hard to watch behind a glass,
In the Hollocaust it was hell Living as slaves in a cell As days pass and people perish The survival I no longer Cherish   In the darkness as I lay All that I can do is pray  
Dear Mom and Dad, how are things with you? Has everything been alright?  Did everyone sleep tight? Me in a shell, to tell you the truth, I can't complain, it'd make things worse.  Am I under a curse?
The sun shows throught the leaves,
Ladies and Gentleman, this one is tall. She’s got long legs, short black hair, and big brown eyes. We’ll start the bid off high at $50. Who wants to buy this exotic beauty for $50? No? How about $70? Okay, last bid. $90 for this Eastern gem.
Look at me and tell me I didn’t fight for my rights. Because twenty-four hours seems more like twelve rounds And some days the bell doesn’t sound. Their blood runs through my veins
I am not a man Not my brother  nor father  was a man  for all us three together would not be a man  for all us three worked on this land  our master the White was a man
I am not a man Not my brother  nor father  was a man  for all us three together would not be a man  for all us three worked on this land  our master the White was a man
I am not a man Not my brother  nor father  was a man  for all us three together would not be a man  for all us three worked on this land  our master the White was a man
I am not a man Not my brother  nor father  was a man  for all us three together would not be a man  for all us three worked on this land  our master the White was a man
I am not a man Not my brother  nor father  was a man  for all us three together would not be a man  for all us three worked on this land  our master the White was a man
I am not a man Not my brother  nor father  was a man  for all us three together would not be a man  for all us three worked on this land  our master the White was a man
My future is decided. My skin color defines it. My skin color is it. This is what I am told, An "invisible" label I have to bear. A pathway guides me to what I have to be.
Beat me with your tiger stripesIf I do as you say isWRONGPush me to the starving pointWhen my fear was nearlyGONERake me upI am decaying leavesNever leave me beEnslave me and my siege
The day we met, I actually cried I did, understanding that he would stay by my side We walked and laughed together I may have stopped if I had known he'd be gone forever  
  Bold, black and beautiful creatures being displayed as items in a grocery store, Bar-coded and lined up, their manufacturer must be confused, because they are worth  so much more than their face value.  
Who am I?A brown girl?A tall girl?The girl who changesher hair often? Who am I?The introvert?The intellegent one?The sarcastic one?
  I cannot sit here and unwrap this hatred, Taste the blood and sweat of the innocent Ignore the threads made of tears, Smile, laugh and forget   I want to lay my life down
Old Antebellum we remember thee well The South’s deep heat and the stories it tells The cotton grew deeper on miles of plantation Overlooking her sorrow and his damnation  
  I've known rivers: I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the      flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I am an American Born and raised  But Society tells me that my race was enslaved. "WAS" I say  Because obviously we still are  To me we are everything but by far.  
My Unlce Sam is a true G. Not a gangsta but the capitol of greed. Perhaps I can incite a moment of clarity for you to see; the truth is, from the British we were never freed. Independence day is just a lie that we believed. 
Langston Hughes’ mama told him “Life ain’t been no crystal stair” Well, I reckon it be the same way for me, too No crystal stair ever showed up for me,
Slaves, abuse, mistreatment, no love But still our ancestors looked at the man above Beatings, hard labor, being hurt like second nature Working day in and day out all day long
It’s price is great, But we have it now.   All through the lives of many, Depression, oppression, work, work, work. We have endured, And so we have earned our freedom.  
A slave to slave No use of putting up a fight Whether they be black brown peached skin or white Controlled within for what we live and breath for Not for field work or daily house chores
I know it's a sin But oh, bondage Where did it begin? I can't trace my steps My heart to slaughter Flesh ripped apart Crimson water Cascading in a river
This is a slam for those who are broken To speak of their pains and words unspoken
You think this is funny. Making fun of the sticker that claims me. You take it off me, so aggressively, as you place it on your neighbors arm. “You are now number 4131” you giggle as you read the name of my new identity.
Why Hate Me because my skin is the color of the earth Why Hate Me and despise me at birth Why Hate Me with the depths of your soul When you are the one with stories untold
Crawling like a serpent from a western world of ties. To enterlace another culture with slavery in disguise. At first the families welcome it, needy and deprived. The mighty sweatshop voyager has finally arrived.
Deep within a hot blistering day the trees swaying whilst the wind is array. The sun illuminates the slaves scared slays and America fails to open her young eyes.
This shadow covers me It's so dark They walk about I can't give up I'm deep in pain Screaming for help They are looking They don't care I am an animal I AM their joy But I need help
We stood. We stood in the streets, On the courthouse steps, In the park, By the church. We stood.
I'm falling in an abyss, deep, dark, and painful. Darkness surrounds me. Misery embodies me. There's no sign of an end. Cries of pain, tears of anguish, All hope is lost. I'm drowning.
"Pull up the caboose," hiss'd Moses, moonlit And fierce, the bandana like a red flag, Signal of something si lent ly -"Don't drag!"- Simmering in the blue night. Moses flit Among the soot. White apron soon unfit
I was the slave girl taken from the South to the West I was the sister that was beaten tortured and ripped from the home of my loved ones I was the young mother dragged and taken in chains forced to kill the life inside of me
Living in the forlorn world of slavery, being discriminated against by some of the white race- due to my colored face.
Hell and repression, stuck in a state of repression, being pushed to far smacked down and shoved back, forced into ownership into his possession, trying to escape until you hear of a track,
The disease of men That put us in pens The beatings and bruises That was so abusive A disease of their mind Our punishment wasn’t kind Back then it seemed That it was okay to be mean
They say I’ve got dirty tears, The ones that run down my face are not the same, The blood I bleed is much too dark My bruises far too faint, And I’ve got dirty tears Don’t get me started about my skin
Judgment, Prejudice you are the banes of me. You are planted, spawned by the minds of those free. Avarice and malice; the edge of their whip May paralyze me with the breaks of my hip.
The ride to freedom was long Time would never heal The wounds and the cries From men and children alike Full of tears, pain, shame
The smoke burns My throat is sore Daddy says run But they’re doing more. I never knew How bad it was How much hurt Came from us. ‘Cause Daddy says This is okay. And any lies
The sting no longer comes. With every crack of the whip, I just wait. I simply wait to lose consciousness, Wait for the blood to spill, I hope this time it spills enough, Maybe if I'm lucky,
My hands are bloody red, from the cotton that I have picked. Blisters eating out my flesh, from the wooden cutlass I held. Sun having no mercy on my dark colored skin. Sweat pouring down my face, to the point where it stings.
This is when your jaw drops, You've finally seen the agony of a man that serves another for scraps, Builds a family from the ground up and still can't see the light, Que tienen miedo de la soga y de morir
I am no longer the beautifully tinted woman that grew up between the tropical trees and vines of the most alluring forests.
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