kenel, south dakota —
dear people of the future,
i intuit my deep and everlasting stupor.
so before i seal my eyes from this devilish world,
on this paper, let my story be preserved.
from my sacred lands i was seized,
taken away, even when i begged on my knees.
how young and sinless i was,
the sinful invaders raided my home without any qualms.
i contributed in an expedition which voyaged in my homelands,
considered a foreigner whilst standing in my own sand.
people may speak of my resolution and valour,
but who will speak about my deepest desire?
even now, sickly and senile,
i long for my native lifestyle.
they stormed my home with their bloodied glory,
and now call me a stranger in my own territory.
will there be a day when my people won't be alien?
a day when my desire won't be deemed as rebellion.
by that blessed time, my body would be unearthed into moss,
hopefully, my fight won't be a loss.
— sacagawea, circa 1812
— hopefully,
azade
YOU ARE READING
• 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲, 𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐳 • ( on hold )
Poesiewilde says, "the books that the world calls immoral are the books that show the world its own shame," / well, for this who is to blame? perhaps it could be the sapphic poetess or the coloured writer / who could it be, for both are fighters it could...
