incongruous

we’re whipped into shape

with the snap of seasoned leather

my wounds barely holding together

an honour killing, 

a rite of passage,

domestic slaves, 

an arranged marriage 

I’ve become limber, 

psychologically loose

a flaming effigy to mass murder

over exposure, 

aversion therapy 

will bury me 

in a shallow grave

I’m a cotton-picking slave

I’m a negro hung from a tree

I’m a list of exclusions

‘I was never meant to be’