i could never fully explain the humiliation 
of the pain of being a slave 

knowing that my true freedom
will never come 

that all that is before me 
is death and punishment 

disfigurement under a cruel master(s) 
who face i know not 

sing for his or her bread 
I write and i write 
for 30 yrs 

and ever-time i asked for help
I only received perturbation

the maintains of cruelty is
stretched all over my disfigured face 
(Buccal mucosa is another name for the inside lining of the cheeks)

and so i will be punished again 
for writing this poem 

or one of my suns 

so why fight 
why be the fool 

why stand alone 

because death is better than, a master of any color 
and I am already dead 
I have not the control of my own soul... 

the things they do to me 
will surly get me sooner 
than later