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Remember no cheating
and have lots of
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I was born in Africa in the year of 1753. I was kidnapped at the age of seven and was put into the smelly hot awful ship. Lying there listing to the chains rattling was just horrible. Sometimes it felt like I was going to die or maybe even rot away till there was nothing left but a piece of clothe which I had worn on the way here from Africa (I wasn't quite sure which one was worse). The taste of the foreign food made me sick. I wanted to was cry. Once the ship arrived in America I was sold in a slave auction. It made me sad to see that people would actually sell me for money but even though I was sad I was very glad to be off that horrid ship. I couldn't wait to take a bath. Can you tell who am I?
I remember playing marbles when I was a little girl.
I wasn't treated necessarily badly because my Master educated me and treated me as a family member. I was rescued from somewhat of a hopeless situation because my "family" was so sympathetic. When I learned how I wrote about things that I experienced. Of course it was from a woman's point of view. I didn't just write stories I wrote them in a special way. Since I lived in New England and it wasn't against the law for blacks to learn how to read and write and that made a lot of difference seeing I couldn't get in trouble. Naturally my Master helped me and loved my work so I got farther than if my master didn't care at all. Now can you tell who I am?
I had a bedroom similar to the one below.
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I was horned by General Washington
it made me so proud to do what I did. All the Americans publishers wouldn't
publish my work but when I went to England the publishers there did. I
was even asked to see the King but my master got sick and I had to go home their
was no time to visit him. I came home to nurse my master and I tried keep
her alive (since she had grown to be kind of like my mother) but she didn't
make it. Before she died she signed my freedom papers even though I had
no intention to leave, that house had been my home for quite a long time.
Later in my life I was married to a poor black man. Together we had three
children that all died in infancy it was so sad that I cried for such a long
time. I died at somewhat what of a young age and even though I was a great
poet I died almost penniless. Can you tell who I am now?
This is my husband, you know the father of my children.
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I quickly learned how speak to English and I also learned how to spell my name. My master saw me writing on the bricks with charcoal and decided to teach me how to read and write. I learned Latin, Greek, Geography, Poetry and Mathematics. I enjoyed poetry the most. I began to become a poet and wrote poetry about important and general things that happened. My Master took me to the house of the man that sold me to them (not purposely of course) and I was even offered a chair at the main table because they like my poems so very much. My Master went to all lengths to help me become well known. I went to England and that was where my first book was published. I was also the first African poet. Can you tell who I am now?
This was the room and bed my master died in.
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As you know I am a famous poet and I was the first African poet. But what you don't is that my master's last name is Wheatley and my first name starts with a P. A lot of people liked my poems but few would publish them but on January 24, 1774, an advertisement was placed in the Boston Gazette announcing the American publication:
This day is published
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Can you guess who I am now?
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