Born to a slave world, Isabella Baumfree, but Free is a word I never will be,
Sold at auction, age only nine - forced into marriage, life never mine!
A woman of colour, a time long ago, my skin colour flawed, not the colour of snow.
Another thing failing me, I am a slave, I long to be human, it’s something I crave.
Your mocking and laughing, your taunting cruelty - ignorant, harrowing, it’s plain bigotry.
I’m a woman with substance, I have pride and a face, you don’t bestow mercy, you don’t devote grace.
The time has now come, from your fields, I must flee,
Before my life crumbles, stripped bare before me.
My life must be mine, be lived where it matters, not be trod on, crushed open and ripped till it shatters.
I’m changing my name from Baumfree to Truth, bearing witness, I’m fighting for freedom of youth,
My mind makes my body, not my whippings that scarred. Ain’t I a woman, imprisoned and barred.
I did what I had to, was not just for me, not for the power, nor reward of glory –
I did what I had to, believed that it’s right - joined the fight to end slavery, turn darkness to light.
I kept up my faith, I held my voice high – It bellowed, it thundered, right up to the sky.
And ain’t I a woman? Look at me! At my arm! Born cotton field picking and working your farm.
I know what my worth is and always will be, all stacked against me, a jousting journey.
“I can’t read, but I hear” and I want to be clear, I’m no longer hiding, I won’t disappear!
I fall to my knees, thunder crashing up high - Yearning for freedom long before I will die,
Discarding the shame, the damned don’t despair,
All things are possible, it’s all in our prayer.
Obliged to you hearing me, got nought more to say, I hope when I’m buried, I changed it some-way,
In my passing, I pray that I’m never forgotten, A woman fighting for freedom, not picking cotton.
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