By Curtis Ray Yazzie
When your “leaders” drop like flies, surrounded by the compromised, with the traumatized leading our traumatized to trauma units.
Who’s real eyes will realize the real lies, who can we rely on to really do this?
Tell me who really got a stomach for genocide, without truly turning into the opposite of cupid.
I used to dream so lucid, now it isn’t clear if my dreams of dying come to me from where the truth is, or if it’s just the fear and my heart tends to misconstrue it.
Maybe all those flash bangs, turned my brain into a Rubik’s.
Maybe I’m coming around to life and what I always I knew it is.
Grandma excuse me if this is blaspheme but I’m new to this.
It’s like god told me to fly, just to introduce me to where the roof is.
I don’t smudge sometimes because deep down its like it’s so useless.
Creator excuse my rhymes but it’s like every broken pipe broke inside this Diné, Blackfeet Yupik.
Bowl from stem, heart from soul, I never meant to lose it.
It’s just I wonder sometimes if I have what it takes to make it through this revolution.