Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Classy J Sep 4
Dead eyes circumvent,
Red flags; hesitant.
Sad lies, love broken.
Can’t tell if I’m,
Loved or just a token.

Lying around,
Can’t sleep,
Gaining pounds,
Depressions deep.
Trying to float,
But starting to sink.

I know I need help,
But my trauma is like my fathers belt.
The only difference is,
Not all the scars show.
That’s just how it goes.
With my heart and my mind; juxtaposed!

Wondering if my words are as invisible,
As I feel.
Pop a pill,
So, I don’t have to feel, anymore.
I could be the richest man,
But still feel poor.
What is life for?
Got people wanting more,
Yet still feel empty to their core.

Don’t mind me,
I’m just lost in my head,
Rewinding tapes instead,
On working towards, Being Free.
Classy J Sep 2
Codes bode mechanical roles,
On human souls,
A road that promised rainbows,
And virtues that once showed,
A flow of dough,
That made social control,
More comfortable.
That was until,
Everything fell all to hell.
One by one like dominoes.
Poor little dolls.
Trying for survival.
Yet for yrs yawl been in denial.
So, forgive me if I,
Don’t care about tears from a crocodile.
That transformed beautiful lands,
To wastelands.
That set up rules that put vatos in jail.
Without fair trials.
As the poor become corpse piles.
A vile stench trails.
But will never be inhaled.
By those who prevail.
A statement that is like a nail.
Being put into a coffin.
Isn’t humanity something?
Instead of reflection,
Or reconciliation.
History becomes like young padawans,
Facing off against Anakin.
Where truth becomes fairytales,
From once upon.
A time where superior specimens.
Overcame the savage ones.

Wondering what hill I’ll die on,
Will I end up in hell or in Zion?
Sometimes I feel like a who,
Only heard by Horton.
And I ain’t talking about Tim.
For my people’s lands,
Have been invaded by zim.
Yet we are the ones treated as aliens.
And unlike like a roll up the rim.
There is no please play again.
Never trust a clown,
Especially if they wear a crown,
Why stick with milk,
When you could have the cow.
Why share the land,
When you could steal the oil.
Set the hen house on fire,
And watch as things go afowl.
Wondering who’s next,
Better ask the owl.
As they can see the evil in the eel,
That try to distract people,
With their promises and ideals.
But actually bring woe.
They say you reap what you sow,
So, be careful what you grow.
For bitterness is like a poison pill.
That spoils our fill.
Teach a white man to fish,
And for generations blood will spill.
As a sour sorrow echoes through the ville.
But is quickly dismissed.
That makes one wish,
Our voices could be taken as serious as,
A siege on Capitol Hill.
Classy J Aug 6
Born in a sinkhole,
Where money is made on petrol,
And geckos are plentiful,
So, best hope your names not geico.
This can truly be the life for…
Hold the beer, bring in the ***.
Thriving prostitution, right under God’s sun.
While the the streets flood with pollution,
Goodbye Captain Planet, end em with a gun.
A travesty that gets spun,
And put under the rug.
Along with other skeletons.
But as long as money flows,
The rich can keep eating beef Wellington.
Where most can’t dare to be themselves,
Like they May Sarton.
For those in poverty are deemed as burdens.
In a land of prosperity,
Yet got homeless people starving.
In the streets,
If this land belongs to the meek,
Than why don’t they have a seat.
To the table?
Because those with privilege,
Are like Cain to their Abel,
Propaganda in tow,
Turning facts to fables.
It’s like Lao Tsu says:
Those who know do not speak.
And those who speak do not know.
So, how can we grow?
If we don’t water?
When friend turns to foe.
Where grass hides snakes and gaters.
If you want to find evil,
Follow the dough.
And if you want to find the traitor,
Look at who controls the labour.
Classy J Aug 1
What would you say is you’re biggest fear?

Well, like most people I have a fear of spiders and heights. But if we are talking beyond sensation or feelings. It gets a bit convoluted.

What do you mean by convoluted?

Well my biggest fear is something that has been confirmed over and over again. Something a lot of indigenous people or people of colour face each day.

And what would that be?

Not being listened to or believed when we speak out.

Have any examples of this?

Yes, many actually but I’ll only cover a few.
In the education field when teachers or kids verbally abuse or bully you. It’s usually your fault, after all as a person of colour we usually get treated as less than human. I had a teachers call me a ***** or that I’ll never amount to anything. That I’ll end up on the streets homeless begging for change. But do these teachers lose their jobs when I speak out. No, because it’s a savages word against some white privileged *****.

Another example is in the work field.
I’ve faced verbal and physical abuse. I would come home crying every day. So many times I just wanted to die. As I face racism, sexism, micro-aggressions but I needed money. And when I spoke up I got told to toughen up and be a man or worst of all to get over it. Did the people in positions of power get fired when I spoke up? Nope. Did I experience more discrimination. Absolutely. It got so bad I convinced myself that it’s just normal to be abused and that I deserved it.

In society we have talked about the atrocities that have happened due colonialism such as the sixties scoop and residential schools.

Even now as it’s being brought to life with all the unmarked graves. Many either still refuse to believe it or they try to justify it or they still say to get over it. These examples are only a few, and I hope one day not just me but other people of colour can actually be heard and believed. For the trauma isn’t going away anytime soon.

And it kinda coincides with this idea. This lie. That when I speak up or out against things that are wrong no one listens…
And when no one listens,
It’s like what’s the point you know?
Than the lie creeps in and says “too just shut up, keep quiet, and stay silent.”
And that’s my biggest fear, giving in to lies; to stay silent. To be too afraid of sharing my story, my perspectives and my truth. To give into pessimism, cynicism and fatalism.
Classy J Jul 16
So, why do indigenous people talk about white privilege when they get everything for free?

Actually that’s a false statement. Natives do not get everything for free. Honestly I don’t know where that came from. So, depending on one’s treaty a indigenous person might get say hunting/fishing rights or medical coverage, etc. However, like I said it’s dependent on treaty so some may not have medical coverage or other sort of benefits if you can call them that. Now usually I also get asked about getting lots of money from the government or my band. Now I do get money from the government but it’s not hundreds or millions of dollars. I get one cent per year for being indigenous. The money I get from my band comes from the oil found on reserves. The band can decide how to use that money and sometimes decides to give out a percentage to each person with status for those applicable for it. Which when oil was booming sometimes could equal anywhere from $300-$500. However, recently in years that has dwindled to anywhere between nothing to if we are lucky $200 per years and if we are really lucky twice a year usually in summer and in the winter. The only other benefits I get is if I go to the reserve I can get smokes and gas for cheaper usually about 50% off give or take. That it. Not to mention the land the colonists gave us was seen to be the crappiest land there was with no real value. It wasn’t till later that many of the left over pieces of land just so happened to have a commodity that was really valuable; that being oil. They tried to ***** us out but creator had other plans!
Classy J Jul 16
As an indigenous person what is one place you would avoid like the plague?

Easy hospitals. Hospitals are one of the most traditional in thinking. The doctor is the expert and any other person’s thoughts or opinions don’t matter. You get glared at all the time. Get sarcastic or passive aggressive answers to questions. The mood coming from hospitals towards indigenous people is get the **** out. You also get talked down to or doctors treat you like you have a disability or like your deaf. If you ever want to feel like not being welcomed somewhere go to a hospital. Also many hospitals in Canada have a very racist past. Like not letting indigenous people in especially if they are an injured homeless person. So many homeless indigenous people have frozen death outside hospitals because they refused to help them. Homeless indigenous people are also stereotyped as being drunk indians so that’s another reason they are refused entry into hospitals. By some miracle if they are allowed in they usually will die from injury because they won’t help them. Slowly dying for hours as others are helped before them all because of their skin colour. So, yeah not a big fan of hospitals. They probably have a indigenous body count as high as some residential schools.
Classy J Jul 14
Sleeping in a **** soaked mattress,
With sounds of gunshots,
That keep me up late.
Got me all depressed,
Wondering if I’m next to be popped in the chest.
But the question is…
Will it be by my own people?
Or by the cops?
Gang mentality is my ******* reality,
Every day comes with a new tragedy.
In slums called reservations,
Wishing I wasn’t Cree.
For all I see is starvation.
And my family,
The ones that are supposed to protect me.
Are out drinking.
Leaving me and siblings scrambling,
Looking for scraps in dumpsters.
And than at night we hide from monsters.
That try to sneak in our beds,
Having their way till our eyes bleed red.
Praying to God, that I’d drop dead.

Growing up on the Rez,
Where you can’t even trust your own friends.
Growing up in trauma,
Because society tried to have us cleansed.

Growing up on the Rez,
Unable to get ahead,
Growing up in trauma,
Confined and ensnared.

Some months I wonder where my parents went?
Probably on another ******.
Or maybe in they in jail or some AA centre.
Trying their hardest to forget.
Being ***** by nuns, priests, and teachers.
Maybe that explains my dads hot temper.
And starts to lose control a becomes an abuser.
Slamming my brothers and sisters, against  some phony happy family pictures.
And there’s no use going to hospital centres.
Cause they’d rather let you die, than help some prairie ******.
And maybe all this abuse,
Got me all confused, whether I like Peter’s or Beavers.
Which than leads to wondering,
If I’ve been cursed by the Creator.
Wondering when he’s going drop a crater,
On a this savage sinner.
And if that’s the case,
For my last dinner.
I’ll take some real genuine love, that can break the chains of being bitter.

Growing up on the Rez,
Where you can’t even trust your own friends.
Growing up in trauma,
Because society tried to have us cleansed.

Growing up on the Rez,
Unable to get ahead,
Growing up in trauma,
Confined and ensnared.
Next page