Shackles

Are these shackles supposed to contain me,

Lock me from within,

Rip my pride out from my soul

And label me with sin,

 

Are these shackles a sign that I am worth,

Worth your keep,

Or simply to show that I am an animal

Willing to do anything but weep,

 

Are these shackles necessary,

Is the pigment of my skin that powerful,

For my wrists are dressed with scars

And my blood is just as colourful,

​

Are these shackles a symbol of your hate,

I have done nothing to deserve such reaction,

I suggest you find another way of breaking me

For these shackles will cause no destruction.

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© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc. 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc. with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.