They Call Him a Runaway

April 29, 2009
By Torianna Brooks BRONZE, Vancouver, Washington
Torianna Brooks BRONZE, Vancouver, Washington
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

He runs
Only to free himself
He continues to run
There is nothing else
That he can do
Afraid to show the marks on his back
So he hides the marks by wearing a shirt
Even though the blood bleeds through
His blood is red
Their blood is red
But yet
He is the only one that has to run
To ensure that the next day he is not dead
The tears that he cries
Never seem to bother them because the tears to them
Are nothing but slavery lies
He hides in the day and runs at night
Because tomorrow is not promised
Not the day but his own life
He has nothing to lose
So he continues to run
All alone
No one to call his own
A tree or a land of dirt
Is al he has to call his home
Runaway! Runaway!
They all chant and yell
He would rather be dead than a slave
Just an object that someone sells
He is hiding in the bushes
And sees a flashlight
He debates to kill himself
Or let them catch him
And pray that everything is alright
He waits…
He runs…
They call him the runaway
I mean they called him the runaway
Past tense
Because when he ran…
Bang!
3 shots to the back that ended his
Runaway and slavery days

The author's comments:
In my 11th grade English class, we were reading a book entitiled Huck Finn.I am one of 2 black students in my class of 30.I was hurt when I heard the N word used so many times so I decided to create a poem to show the other students why they would never really know what it's like to be African American until you walk in their shoes.

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