May 27, 1998.
It was a Thursday at 7:50 p.m.
I was one of two.
"Name her Isabella, because she came out screaming. She's loud, like her grandmother."
My sister was 10 minutes later, quiet and feeble.
Her name, Andreana.
After my father Andrew, who wasn't there. He died two months earlier.
My mom, obviously she was there. But not really.
Atleast she wasn't around.
We had Jamie, and Erika, and Ausra, and Deb.
Me and my sister had eachother, and my brother, when he felt like it. When your dads dead and your mom works full time--because that's the only way to make a living.
You're really, well you're an orphan.
I remember when my mom went on business trips,
I'd bang my head on the wall because I was so miserable,
I'd cry myself sick.
I would sleep next to my sister and we'd look at the stars, I remember we used to stay up late and wait for her to get home. She'd hold me and whisper "soon."
As I felt the tears from her eyes gather in my hair, and rub against my skin.
My mom would bring us home gifts, as if gifts could mend our broken hearts. As if gifts replaced the love and attention we weren't getting.
I got to first grade and I stole from my teacher, I hung out with the "bad girl" in class and we used to bully this boy. My mom wondered why I had anger management issues and why I would lie.
She threw me into therapy, because she couldn't solve these problems on her own.
Except when I went to therapy all I wanted to do was play with the games. I just wanted someone to play with me.
I just wanted someone to care.
My nannies cared.
But they weren't my mom.
And eventually they left.
When they left, then we had Maria.
Maria pushed me into the wall when I was having tantrums and grabbed my face, told me to "stop misbehaving!"
I hated Maria.
My mom cared. She cared a lot. Maybe that was the problem.
She got so caught up in caring and making sure we were cared for that she forgot how to love.
When all the other kids parents came to the Halloween parade, I never saw my mom. My sister and I would sit together, while everyone else would sit with there mommies and daddies. But hey atleast we had eachother.
Right?
My mom wasn't able to make it to Shoreline or state championship track meets, or award nights because she had to work. She wasn't there when I became captain of the track team.
My best friends mom gave me a hug, i closed my eyes and pretended it was mine.
She cared, but she was never there.
I still looked for her face in the crowd every time I stood at that starting line.
Most times when I didn't see it, I wanted to cry, but the few times I did, I wanted to cry even harder.

I bet y'all thought I was white
Yeah I get it
I look white
I mean like yeah I'm kinda white but
I'm not white
If you want to know EXACTLY
I'm 47.5% Native American of the Susquehannock tribe.
There's also some middle eastern in there, but that's irrelevant.
My family, we were strong natives.
A town in Pennsylvania named Annville.
It's named after my Aunt Ann, who was the leader of her tribe.
All this and people are so quick to assume I'm some "white girl."
I still don't know what's worse though,
Being called *******,
Or red skin.
Because they don't talk about what it's like when you don't look your ethnicity.
Then when you try explaining it to people... they laugh at you.
And tell you you're "touchy."
Or once again, just a "white girl."
When my friend dressed up as a quote on quote, Indian, for Halloween and I told her it was offensive, she scoffed and said, "but you're not even reeeeeally a Native American."
Cause when people look at me they think "white."
Sorry I don't put feathers in my braids and wear pelts of fur.
Do you want me to walk barefoot in the winter and sleep in a teepee?
We don't do that.
And you get the day off for Christopher Columbus? Cool.
He ***** our women and murdered our people. You know we were initially called Indians because he though we were India. He didn't find America...we did. But nice try.
And the Washington Redskins? I don't know if they're a good team or not, but god I hope they change their name because every time I hear it I feel like a piece of my heritage is slashed. But nobody realizes this. Do they?
People like to giggle behind my back when I defend my native side.
So when these people are having their outdoor weddings, or pool parties, or Fourth of July barbecues. I'm just going to do a little rain dance. See how much you're laughing then.

thank you
for the time you dedicated to me
even though it ended in a **** show
thank you
for the reassuring words that you offered
when i couldnt offer them up to myself
but
i will never thank you
for the betrayal i felt
when you canceled on me
or wouldnt let me leave the psych hospital,
lied to my face,
told me one thing, then someone else another
and when you gained my trust after i TOLD you it was so hard for me to give away,
and you ripped it to shreds
i will never ever ever thank you for the pain i felt when you gave up on me
or didnt respond to my pleas
my cries of help
when you told me i was seeking attention
and when i looked at you dead in the eye with a pain greater than both you or i know, and you never spoke to me again.
i was running down that street and you called my name, but you didnt tell me to stop.
thank you for your kind eyes
the way you tried to understand
and often, you did
but ******* for all the times your kind eyes werent so kind behind closed doors
when you went home to your lover at night and didnt think twice of me
for the times i needed you and you couldnt provide it to me
you didnt give me validation
because when something is on fire and you want to put it out you throw on water, but you added fuel.
the fire kept growing
i burnt.
and you watched.
so if you committed arson and werent caught, did it ever even matter in the first place?

i am not here
i am not yet born,
i am in a crate
i am not sure
i am not what i thought i was
i am still
i am lost
i am not yet grown
i am going
i am going
i am going
i am going far
...far
......far
.........far
downhill
i am sure