The Real Pocahontas
My bare feet crunch
on the leaves nestled on
a dirt path
as I walk through a
distorted truth
about my past.
It is typical
to be called
Red skinned
or an Indian, but
my name is one
that is painted
with the colors of the wind
Not a P, but a M
begins the spelling of
my name.
I am not a princess..
But a stowaway
on a ship sailing
the wrong way.
England was my destination
but instead of socializing
I was realizing my
new home
in a cold cell
inside the walls of
Jamestown.
My innocence was fading
and my childhood was waining.
I am not a princess…
So Mr. Smith
came up with a story.
Heroism?
I am not his hero.
I guess he thought
it would be cool
to pull a lie
out of a pool
of deception.
I never liked his
complexion.
So my tribe was ruined
and my path is starting
to crumble now
as I realize how
my life has been rolled
in a dough made of sweetened
batter.
My love was
not who you think.
and I will not tell you
the lies you expect to hear…
Rolfe is my last name..
and I changed my first to Rebecca..
I am no Smith
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And I am definitely not a princess.