THE TIN MAN

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A look into prison life, as my eyes have seen it.

Submitted: November 28, 2006

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Submitted: November 28, 2006

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I went to the auctioning block, three score and
thirteen years ago.
They called it C.R.A.F.T.
The ride over was rough, with the sounds of chains
slamming against the hollow innards,
of its vessel.
All was silent, except the brain washing, slave
melodies vibrating off the core of my being.
I closed my eyes, and tried to memorize,
times I knew would soon,
be stolen from me.
ME! The lion of an old jungle
feeding off humanity.
I opened my eyes to the scienery,
of gastly pale blue, and glum slave faces.
All was unfortunatly as this queer reality should be,
depressing!!
The auctionong block was lifeless,
yet full of life.
They stripped me then dipped me vigorously
in its cold eternity.
They appraised me, and told me boldly,
that they would hold me,
in their reality, for thirteen years of insane
debauchery, and they chained my body,
yet set my dormant mind free,
by a tecnicality.
In the womb, of the transitional tomb,
i mentally versed myself physically.
I unchained and challenged my own sanity,
with the insanity, of their reality, until my fathers
death calmed me, and almost bombed me,
into a million little me's.
Yet i tirelessly peiced the me
back into a functioning entity.
Endlessly i tired myself over what should be,
and tried to see what they called the good me,
but i embraced ME, The Godly.
The slave masters children informed me,
that normally my father i could not see.
Yet still showing the sings and strain,
of being enshrouded in pain,
they momentarily let me go out of their vanity. 
They want good niggas.
And a quasi good nigga i will be,
if i'm allowed to see the lifeless humanity,
i use to call Daddy.
With arms that could no longer hold me,
i touched his cold body.
With family trying to embrace and love me,
with comforting simplicities i struggled to contain my knees
while releasing every tear within me.
Shriveled and dried up i was sent back to the
slave masters vanity.
They want good niggas.
A ship was soon sent to take me and thirty
other bodies into the deepest bowels of slavery.
It was there i first saw the stare of fear,
an innocent infancy.
They want good niggas.
Every slave except me was broken instantly.
See because there are some slaves,
and then there are some braves,
caught up in slavery.
Every method to brake me was done incessantly
and methodically.
They scarred the flesh of body,
but there is no pain within me.
You can call me The Tin Man.
Because my yellow brick road leads to a
thousand clogged arteries.
If i do have a heart it has truely, and honestly,
stopped beating for me.
Somewhere over the rainbow,
the cowardly have a brain to go home with dailly.
While i walk in the realms of pain,
only able to cain this reality subconsciously.
Because they want good niggas.
They want hood niggas.
They want black niggas.
THEY WANT ALL NIGGAS!!
They want me broken into a million little mes.
They want us, THE TIN MEN........... 


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