My Indigenous Rage

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My Indigenous rage

has already caused my heart to scar over and stretch.

the pressure is building

and it wants to break on out of my chest.

my Indigenous rage

sounds like neglect

a child’s falling footsteps

running to check

if their mother made it home yet.

it sounds like a 3 am phone call

crack induced

the strained voice of a loved one crackling through

its a middle of the night, real fight to find truth

my Indigenous rage…

my Indigenous rage

looks like someone trying to jump from a moving vehicle

and feels like

the fear that you can’t hold them in

cant hold them up

it looks like seeing their using as okay

so long as they’re not threatening suicide every other day.

my Indigenous rage sounds like flicking lighters hitting crack pipes

looks like exposed floorboards and black mould

feels like winter in a house with no heat

the oven flipped open like the mouth of a hungry beast

with one working burner to cook the food to feed

the children.

my Indigenous rage

hangs in the balance of the possibilities and the perceived realities of our children.

We were children once.

so many of us grew into hard men and hard women

we grew so hard

that life’s punches made us shatter

we became broken, sharp and dangerous to handle

we became a danger to ourselves

my Indigenous rage is the number 4

the number of times I have been to rehab

the number of years I have been in school and trying to decolonize.. So I can make it in a white mans world

its the number of times I’ve been violated and folded into myself like a little girl

but 4

is also the number of rounds of the ceremonies that helped me get clean

it is the number of the directions

the number of seasons

the stages of life

my Indigenous rage is ever-present

but so is my Indigenous healing, love, hope and light

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