When They Came For Me Poem by Areese Woodson

I remember hearing the blustering roars of lions,
The electrifying laughs of hyenas,
Seeing strapping runs of cheetahs,
Watching sand swoop in the air,
Cantering on grains illuminated by the sun and moon,
And through ancient jungles.
I was covered in my culture -
Among what made me who I was,
I was liberated.
Until ships could be heard,
Voices escalating,
Flesh being washed away from bodies.
I was maltreated.
My culture whisked away,
Forming a concrete poem along the shores.
Parts of the ocean washed through my ears.
I was forced to live on stollen land,
Where I had to work until an incursion of blood, sweat, and tears ran down my face.
I was called out of my name -
Now its for endearment -
Somehow, that became fine to all of you,
But it only brings me back to the day they came for me.