A Runaway Slave Poem by Chanelle Fields

Strength is drained from my body.
Hope is no longer an option
Dreams are not allowed
Not here on Massa’s plantation.
But I be tired, he don’t let me rest til 1 in the morning.
Then he calls me into his room at night.
His wife knows, but don’t say a thing.
She know better.
But in the fields if I be caught slacking and don’t have up to 250 pounds of cotton I be whipped 7 times.
I can still feel the sharp whip against my raw skin.
Each time the whip hit I be arching my back.
I thought about running.
I wanted to run.
But 17 slaves tried to run and get away,4 died on the trip.
I wish I was in their place.
The rest was taken back here until and whipped until their backs looked like shredded meat.
They then died.
I saw the opportunity and I be dashing off like a cheetah.
I didn’t mind the sticks and stones piercing my feet, they were numb.
Massa be whipping me into next year if he caught me.
But I couldn’t worry about that now for I was a runaway
Slave.