There is something so very broken inside me; I cannot put my finger quite upon it yet. My Granny tells me not to complain So I found solitude in the rain. I stopped seeking change.
It could have been the day
My foster mom said my Native people’s ways Were the “Devil’s Work,”
Or the day my own Native sister said I could pass for White,
It could be the day he hurt me When I was only four,
Or when he cracked my head wide open
While lying on the floor.
That’s maybe why my Dad called me “Haywire,”
Or maybe it was the day I ran from the man Who tried to lure me in with force,
It might have been the day I was strangled Half to death,
Or the two times I was assaulted by an officer,
Once for being an Indian child;
The other for being a victim of violence.
It may have been the night I was stabbed over and over,
Or the nine years I lived In and out of foster care,
Or the time I was told I was A “Drunk Indian Slut” When I was already sober.
It may have been when I worked hard to Prove I was not a “Dumb Indian,” to become Validictorian to never get a job.
Or maybe, it was the time I was made Homeless with children,
Or sent to live in polluted housing On convoluted lands.
I really cannot quite put my finger on it,
This horrible feeling that hurts so bad,
That causes my Granny to tell me
“Stop complaining,”
As I have grown comfortable in the rain,
I want to break out my drum
Scream out to the world that
Something needs to change,
I feel a change is coming
From inside of me.
One where I will turn into a Fancy Dancer Wearing the colours of the Dragon
Unleash a healing flame upon the world Because, this Victim is sick of it.
I know I have a power inside me
One that has been stewing, stirring,
It tingles me sometimes,
I sing loudly in the shower
Just to let it out,
Yet, put it back inside when I am out and about.
