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Mammon, their false god of avarice, says,
their 'final solution', extinction,
to steal everyone's everything,
can't be stopped, notseeism will rule.

"...We(e),..." bay, nay, you will be separated from
the State, as the Constitution dictates, the people
will rise again, your treason will end, Oyate.

Somatic revolution, each one's foci of attention
solutioning with all life, betwixt Earth and Sky,
evincing to be alival, not survival, lifting sights,
inspiring visions, meditations, actions, sweats to Sundance.

While we look to the 7 th generation, with our climate crisis strike,
starting 9-20-19 and 'the Green New Deal', we also mournfully remember
'Wounded Knee', 12-29-1890, where 300 Native Americans were exterminated.

Most of them were women, kids, a root of our king-kong sized terrible-two's
current war on kids, mostly Latinos.  I would fly just for a day, as a mayfly,
the Beauty Way, if I were more me, rather than as long as an eagle flies,
selling out, destroying, killing.  Viva la evolucion.  Wakan Tanka.
The Constitution dictates, "separate religion from State", so avarice, the actual religion of almost all, they practice behind masks of Christian, atheist, Hindu, etc., must be separated from the State; no?  On this anniversay of the 9-11-01 terrorist attacks that were purposely not prevented, let us remember all murdered by the united **** of assassins Gov't.  The evolution and love exist in politics, see Marianne2020 dot com   :)   reality
Zelia Valdez Aug 24
My mother told me not to speak my native tongue because for today’s America
Words of tongues like ours don’t fit in their mouths right
So when they hear them they think our words hold less intelligence because our mouths are a different shape.

I was told not to speak my mother tongue because when America can’t define your words they assume it’s a sentence. A hidden sentence that America gave us, sentencing our children to end up in cages.

I was told not to speak my mother tongue because America doesn’t look for American birth certificates, because they’ll listen for the sound of foreigner in the American they hear.

I was told not to to speak my native tongue because it doesn’t taste of iron.
Because it is not the language that the American soul bleeds in
Because it isn’t what makes the red in the red white and blue

I was told not to speak my mother tongue in the land that birthed it because my grandmother didn’t remembers the sound of her daughter’s words that I used.
Sacrelicious Aug 2
Most of y'all,
cant handle me.
Cant hang with me.
Cant even with me.

I cant even with myself.
Half of the time.
Literally. Laughing my *** off.
While I'm going banana cause
the fst old gorillas won't share.

Or atleast be kind enough to step down.
Or die.
So we with the correct chart
can
reverse the wheel of fortune.
I'm tired of always being the fool.
Despite my best efforts.

The system is rigged.
Just like the 2016 election.
It's in the water.
We're all high functioning
drug addicts.

Greed is good and consumerism
will be the end of us.
But as long as lark evens out my
red skin.
We're cool.

As an intentional anemic.
It's a scary time to be alive if your not

A
Sraight,
White.
Male.

Doulced in trust fund
blood money.
Give us back our land
and maybe.

We will quit being little psychos.
Or I'm sorry.
Savages.
Like good old Walter,
animated.


Sometimes I feel like ab alien
in my native land.
I'm native Anerican and I'm
embarrassed
to associate myself with my homeland.

I'm just blessed enough to be able to play caucasian on demand.
But let me tell you its exhausting.
Ignoring your culture.
Your abnormalities, anomalies and multiple personalities.
For a bunch of ******* uncomfortable Christians.

May the blood of christ give you
abolitipn.
And his blood sine decent.
Common sense.

The inquisition is over.
It's Salem all over again.
The persecution of the "in-sane".

And I'm guilty.
By disassociation.


I'm sorry but you cant out
Manipulate
me, I'm a natural born
Psychopath.

Mortified by the current
reality.
Since the nineties.

Its detective *******
Pisces.
On the case.

Only platobg dumb
cause I'm pretty.
The fly on the wall
who saw way too much.

Ready to infest the world
with the apparent wokeness
of the highly contagious.
Prozac mania
Holla.
Caroline Jul 24
How many long years did I spend with you,
Lakota Oyate?
Though Wasicu skinned, wearing the paleness of imperial greed,
The reverberant beating of ceremonial drums
Caused my heart to bleed
Rivers of blood,
Tears that I shed,
Soaking the sagebrush and sorrow-laden plains
Inside the hollows of my bones.

Tiyospaye, you are always.

Pilamaya, always and forever.

Mitakuye Oyasin.

Lakota Oyate, you raised me,
A rootless, tender-hearted girl,
Kicking up the dust on some
Empty reservation road.

Lost, but found
In your kindness.

Tiwahe, when I had none.

I filled my plate at your tables, Wojapi and thickened breads,
The laughter of the wild-hearted children
Ringing through the stars like the songs of rainbow-chested prairie birds.

Little takojas, how you grasped my hands and claimed me.
How clearly I can hear them calling, “auntie, auntie, come play!”

And so, the people of the river, below the plains of Standing Rock,
I love you, thechihila,
Forever.

My little children will forever walk in kindness and humility
Because of the values you raised in them;
Because you drew them in as if they were your own blood,
Because you sewed vibrant ribbons on their shirts
As if they belonged in their humanness,
In their innocence,
To your great nation.

Lakota Oyate, I can never repay you for the way your heartbeat

Saved me.

Prayed for me.

Pilamaya Wopila,
Always and forever.
Fifteen years on a reservation in South Dakota. I will never forget. The people raised and healed me in so many ways. In so many ways, it is home.

Wasicu - White Man
Oyate - Nation
Tiyospaye - Family/Clan
Pilamaya - Thank you
Tiwahe - Family
Wojapi - Berry soup
Takoja - Grandchild
Thechihila - I love you.
Chris Saitta Jul 19
Come home from eagle-throated distance,
The canoe-tip of the crescent moon scuds
Into the silted, mud-bed of heaven.
Her face-dream beside the pine trees
The mollusc of purpled wampum beads shining.  

Bury my hands, ninidji, in the eagle’s nest,
Carry my feeling words to her on wings.
Let her mix roots, berries, clay
and the feather of my hands
To paint her face with my words and these trees.

Or let my hands ripple like flat-fish
Above the silt-bed of her slim stomach,
Held there in radiant scaled warmth.
Lappihanne, the rapid water of our river heart,
Like an arrow that glides from the bow,
My people where the tide ebbs and flows.

To us both, the dark, golden edge of woods whispers, kuwumaras
And the water arrow will never land,
But carried in my eagle’s hands,
I say kuwumaras, my love, and pierce through all darkness
To the empty path made full with the ripples of all who have passed.
My nika, swan of the woods, let us dive into the dark, golden sea
Of forever in the hills.
All italicized words are Algonquin.
"Wampum" is well-known as the colorful beads made from whelk shells and later used as currency in trading with New World explorers.
"Lappihanne" was the basis for the word Rappahannock, which is also the name of the tribe known as the "people of the ebb and flow tide"
"Kuwumaras" means "I love you"
All other words are self-explained in the above.

Roots, berries, clay, and sometimes feathers were used for face paint.
Wide little eyes watch from behind the door
    fat little fingers grip the wood, until the blood has fled and left them
  white with cold.
   Chill iron fingers of terror curl around the pounding little hearts and      
squeeze
      their childhood from them
   For the demons enter, breaking down the door;
     their guns drawn, blood on their hands, death in their faces.
    The blind ones rise, with effort, with confusion
   curse the lying promise of the empty bottles, laughing at them from  
     the ground
   and having played themselves to the trap, are pushed helpless to the            
  door.

   and the little eyes burn as they read the little minds their story;
    and flood the tiny trembling faces as they shout the silent truth into
        the hollow room
  that with step after echoing footstep, the beloved ones
    the blind and stumbling ones
  are herded with the crack of whips over the edge
   to a buffalo's death
         in the dark.
From the perspective of  a Native American child whose father has turned to drink to escape his poverty, unemployment, cultural conflict and racism in a rural locale.
Kore Jan 24
you
     non-
colonizer

friend, companion, self-intellectualizing

non-
      colonizing
colonizer

who loves, cares, hurts
              [ me ]

lays an offering
of violence
                  at
                     my
                         feet

non-
     colonizing
colonizer

this is how you love
           [ me ]
my friend hit me up just to show me the nathan phillips video (the first one, not his interview from today) because i'm the only native person he knows and didn't take into account the fact that all i've seen is this ******* video and it hurt me because he wanted my point of view as an indigenous person but just would not listen to me without arguing that the white kids could have maybe been in the right
Kore Nov 2018
redskin redskin redskin redskin redskin redskin redskin redskin
redskin redskindian        indian  redskin redskin redskin redskin
worthlessredskinscalpingbitchfeatherordot redredredred indian
redskin redskin redskin redskin redskin redskin redskin redskin
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