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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


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.


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