April 1, 2012
Everything in my life had become black, bleak, sleek, chic.
I was praised for having no soul. For becoming the machine.
I had to succeed. Because. I had to succeed.
Because. I had to succeed.
That was how I was raised.
Like, you know, in a barn. Like livestock. Like product.
This is The American Way.
The dream is to own, to be owned, but let’s not say slave.
Cause, you know, that’s how this country was made.
I was enslaved by slaves, under Act VII.
The condition of the child follows the mother.
That’s why I ain’t got no chirren.
Not til I break the chains. And free myself from…