I am a walking contradiction bound by elements of society that have chained my mind
I do not speak for myself most times, but when I part my lips and crack my voice, other words seep out.
Have I gone mad? What is this state of chaos that consumes the very individual I do not know?
I am present, but absent in heart, while my mind aimlessly wonders into oblivion.

My being is made in the image of a god’s temple, where they come to empty their thirst.
My body, their sanctuary, and free to all who dare believe they are tempted.
Hated, yet redundantly speared to tame wild light desires that only I get to view and know.
Their religion, my affliction, but all the same a paradox balanced in order.

Why of course I am the most abhorred whore…
Who gave birth to bastards sons, because that is the picture they painted.
History a body fluid in motion, and whoever controls the waters, controls the shores.
Where my people once dwelled, I wept while my tears ravished my face and danced for their cravings.

Wicked eyes, and greedy hands makes the man, but chokes the jezebel moans out of a woman.
My words are not my own, I have no possessions, but I have a thought.
It is blurry and clouded in fictitious assertions that behold the lie.
A trust in truth from the mouths of those who chained me, today and then.

I cannot speak of this thought, my mouth held shut by their history, but I can question
Who am I? The savage whore who could not contain her urges so they chained her soul,
Or the woman today, who cannot seem to wipe away dirt from the back of her hands?
This stain is as permanent as the blood soaked earth where trees produced such strange fruit

Sweet and fulfilling to them, but bitter for me, I do not like that taste of hatred, but it runs in my veins
A boiling potion, in which I was fated to be filled with, who would have known
That their offerings to the temple would give blessings and reveal the truth
Not a lie, I know. I was born from the womb of a temple, built in the image of God.

A blessed image that happens to be colored black. From this temple also was bore nations
The very same who dare chain their own mother, but it ironically logical.
Chain a woman, to become a whore, and let her bare a caged mind.
In which becomes my own. Oh the questions I ask when looking at this wretched color that I adore.