And she held her breathe,
she dove deep within her mind.
Swam to the bottom of her lucid thoughts.
She slipped past the dark memories and the grey moments in her life.
She surfaced to the beautiful place of peace within her mind.
A place where the anger that existed in her life, was not a part of her world.
A location that passion for living was all it was.
She felt the slipperyness of this spot, as it slithered from her finger tips.
No, not reality. Not punishment. Please, no where close to it.
She tumbled back into her liquid nightmares and thoughts.
She fought off her demons and her depression.
She wished to have held on to her loved ones in life.
The dark moments in life gnawed at her hands, making them raw.
The barking voices of authority and slavery whipped her back, leaving it torn to bits.
She reminisced the tragedy of life. Her life.
The severe punishment of having to be torn from freedom of her body and mind was excruciating.
Her hell on earth belonged to her masters. Her owners, she was just property.
She prayed to someone she began to lose faith in. The devil was her boss, the one that worked her in the fields.
Insanity wasn’t an option anymore. She was a drone.
The only time she escaped was when she was sleeping. When she could dream.
Remembering the time her Pappy owned a ranch, the time her mama would cook giant meals for her family. Her and her cousins would play in the fields.
what sweet dreams.
Now, it was all different though.
Her master owned her ranch. Her mama cooked giant meals for the masters. Her cousins were all sold. And she worked her field by picking the cotton.
Now where was her life going to go? What would death bring her?
peace? joy? perhaps.
But although she was a slave of her mind,
although her body was enslaved; she was not ready.
Not ready to accept death.
She would let her real freedom come, whether it be in life or in death.
Whether it be underground, or up above. She would survive somehow.
** A day in school always affects what i write. I learn new stuff, perhaps research in it a little and then i got it all set up in my head. I enjoy writing poetry with a story. Something that makes a person think about more about my character. What is the slave girl’s story? Does she have family? What is done to her? How is she so strong? What happens to her in the end? Does she die on the ranch? Does she escape through the underground railway?
Well, maybe that’s only me that thinks like that when it comes to my own poetry. I will b writing full stories soon enough 🙂 .