Chains, Whips and bits,
All come along despite the lack of fits.
To the extent of the unknown,
The horrors that occupy a Bitter Sweet Home,
Allow humanity to be free,
And they turn Backs into cherry choke trees,
The cacophony of helpless screams,
But not knowing the origins of these streams,
Woof, Moo, grr, neigh,
Is that what I am expected to say?
A Beating heart, a fettered body, and a Darker skin,
What am I?
What is my Identity?