What does it feel like
to be so good at
everything
you do?
Paint, create, imagine, invent,
write, construct, calculate,
assess, read, understand,
analyse, synthesise, communicate,
articulate, and even gesticulate.
Success comes so easy
to you.
You breathe it.
That wild hair, and those
steel
eyes don't hurt.
You were born
for
this.
You were born
with
this
in your mouth.
This
cost
a hundred-thousand slaves
lashed
and worked to
the
bone,
entire families
displaced,
forced to
wander and
trek,
women - no girls,
barely fifteen -
raped
and with child
beaten,
families
ripped
apart,
men
imprisoned,
children,
left fatherless,
communities
dispossessed.
You're so good at it all,
that even you know
this.
But tell me,
does it feel good?
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