Better Off

Thu, 04/25/2013 - 23:57 -- tmoff18

Am I better off, hundreds of miles out of there?
My people need me, need help, need someone.
Now that our fates aren’t tied,
Shoved onto reservations, we aren’t their problem.

Undeniably our numbers die,
Ever since 1492, our culture’s been polluted.
We’d live on if descendants were cared for,
But instead we move on, and our blood becomes diluted.

Know my father? Like many else, of course I do.
A strong man, fresh off the reservation,
Sees from afar what becomes of his home,
And can’t look away, even in the name of self-preservation.

Rape? That’s a stat I don’t want to think about.
I fear every time I look at my aunt and sisters’ faces.
Not even by our men, yet it’s overlooked;
Our women are abused on a daily bases.

Kids go hungry; others eat whatever poison they’re given.
Alcohol drowns the pain of the family’s health,
Yet many stay strong, stay clean,
Work 15-hour days, a dwindling courage felt.

Strive for greatness, they’re told,
But no help comes from those with power in our nation,
Education being left behind
Let’s give hope to the future generations.

The sick pet of our history,
The rez is overlooked and they cut their losses,
Under the coats of editorial smiles lays the conceit
That the “Injuns” must now band together to defeat.

Poetry Slam: 


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