I write to be free. A dream my ancestor had long ago. I'll use my words to let it all their emotions roam freely, like a bird in the days sky. Every detail I speak are nips, and bits of their own voice, desperate to come out, because long ago they did not have one. Their mouths covered and gagged by pale hands, blocking their mellow sounding organs, giving them no right speak. I write to tell their story. To tell their stories they could not make out. The torture, the pain, the yells, the cries, and pleads. None of which the world seemed to hear, until it's too late. Here I stand today almost 200 years later, writing about their unheard cries, that were ignored for so long. Almost 200 years later here I stand, and we still have no voice. I write to share my peoples voice, because long ago we did not have one. I write for change.
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