Native

There’s a river running through my feet,

Tree roots tied into my legs,

Feathers fixed onto my arms,

Rosebuds blossom on my hands.

But if my feelings could be seen,

They’d add my name to the list of conquest killings.

There’s a war within me,

And a sight foreign to my eyes.

Honey lingers on my lips,

Moonlight brush strokes stain my skin,

Wind howls wild through my heart,

A storm looms shallow in my lungs.

But if my beliefs could be heard,

I’d be branded as a savage murderer.

There’s a war within me,

And a sound foreign to my ears.