we can’t see sunshine
and eagles everyday,
when our anger lives
in us like the sun and our trauma steals our breath
like a thief in the night
my prayers won’t always
taste like poetry
and our yells are louder for
those that couldn’t
you throw the word addiction
into the wind with no awareness,
while we’re fist fighting with ours,
waking up and falling asleep next to them
high schools chant “scalp em” indian scalp em
will they ever learn?
missing and murdered
relatives, ignored
when will we be
protected or safe?
name us “drunks”
learn our history
label us “savages”
do your research
“the Indians lost”
land back,
land back,
land back
our anger is valid,
and deserves a
home our trauma is
real,
and deserves to be felt
what you don’t
know, what you
don’t see,
are the silent voices
speaking through us, for us
“we are here”
“we are here”
“we are here”
This was the first piece I shared in New Mexico. I first wrote this in March of 2022, with a heavy heart and anger almost guiding my pen for me. This was in the middle of finding more and more Native children in underground graves, and a racist display of a Texas Highschool chanting "scalp em indian, scalp em" at Disney. When these things happen, there's always a conflict that erupts inside me. I have my ego self coming up that is enraged, wants justice, wants people to be put in their place. And then I have my higher self, that is more in pain, hurt, and knows that people are uneducated and unaware. Somehow I think my writing helps me process, and fall somewhere in between.
I hope you enjoy (maybe that's not the correct word), and I will be sharing the next four pieces over the next few weeks! Thank you.
Niłtooli
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