Broken--A short poem To Ms. Nell Irvin Painter

Dear Ms. Nell Irvin Painter,

I. Am. Broken.

They just don’t understand wut they dun.

Mama been gone for some time now.

We ain’t too sure what happened.

All we know is mistress didn’t take too kind tuh ha.

Mama said she be back,

‘N now she gone.

Daddy here.

But he really not.

All daddy talk ‘bout is “bein’ a real man.”

Ion know what that posta mean.

Ion see nutin but a broken man.

Spittin mouth to a broken boy.

So young.

I should be in school.

But where am I? I’m takin’ lashes from my once friend.

When we was just boys,

Everything was cool.

Runnin’ round.

Playin’. Laughin’.

Til that one day.

Massa was talm bout I did a bad thing

And had Jim slap the taste out muh mouf.

Everything was cool..

Everything was cool til he saw we wasn’t the same.

Now I ain’t his friend. Now I’m his slave.

Broken.

Watchin’ him play ‘round like boys should be doin.

I was in the field.

I had to grow up young.

I’m only thirteen.

And I. Am. Broken.

Ion know where mama at.

She left me.

Just like my friend.

They really don’t know wut they dun.

Soul Murder.

And I will never be the same.

Sincerely,

Slave No. 56