Slave


He helps me,
Protects me,
Believes I am strong,
Even when I can't stand on my feet for the life of myself.
Takes away my sins,
For me he came.
Blood was one of the first things he knew,
Much like the lashings that stain and burn my back,
The blood poured out of his skin,
Like when the men on King Street spit
Out their tobacco on me and the others.
They stoned him,
They snapped every vein and bone in his body,
But they never broke him,
For he is Jesus Christ.
And just like Jesus Christ, they will never break me,
No matter how many names they call me.
Because I am a man,
And any man, black or white, green, purple, or blue,
Deserves to live.

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This Poems Story

I am eleven years old. I have cerebral palsy. As I like to say it limits my body but not my mind. I wrote the poem "Slave" for all the men and women and children who were held as slaves and who still are. My intention for this poem was not to rebel against slavery but to give courage, hope, and to say I believe in you to those who are slaves. I would like to dedicate this poem to my mom, dad, Bella, Mimi, Poppy and Grandma, Grandpa and every child with cerebral palsy.