Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
Performative, superficial.
Bandaid for a gaping wound.
The warriors cried,
the elders cried,
the parents,
the children,
and now Mother Earth cries.
Spirit watches
over children made capable
of atonement,
This day
is an attempt,
Though never enough,
to salve the genocide bled;
Yet
Pick apart my nurtured nature
Relearn through the eyes of the wise;
Eyes of those here before,
With ancestries stretching back,
Across the Iberian,
To find a self not clothed
In stolen skins,
To find a self not privileged in another’s pain,
To find beneath the layers
A decolonized me
She of Letters 