Nina Simone

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Like strange fruit
on poplar trees,
they gazed as you
looked down
a queen on display
for approval,
not knowing that you hung
on purpose,
veins slit
to make them feel.

What happened,
they asked, when it was over
and you had left for a stage
lost and private
and of your own choosing.

What happened
is what happens
when a queen tires of
an audience that
fails to comprehend
what they have been privileged
to see.

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