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The Chase

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Gravel crunched
Beneath my feet,
Raw air chilled
My black skin,

My feet faltered

My palms were
Marred with grime,
The feet carrying me,
Were peppered
With calluses,

My breath shortened

The screeching monster
Inside me yearned
For morsels of food,
While my arms
Convulsed with fatigue,

I clutched by scarf tighter

Pleading cries colored
The wind racing
Through my coarse hair,
The thudding of boots
Shook the soil,

My knees gave out

The quick hands of
Oppressors yanked
At my checkered scarf,
A feeble please fell
From my dry lips,

The blows commenced

Why did the pigment
Of my skin have to
Define my very being?
Why are the workings
Of the world so twisted?

The darkness choked me



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