if you're lonely, you can talk to me

i scream you scream we all

When I was 18, I got into my first real fight. A guy called me a “dirty prairie n*gger”. I swung and clocked him out. His friends jumped me. I beat them too. When I went to university, My dorm laid out rules. Then, they asked for suggestions, Rules that the residents wanted. One boy spoke, “I think the stagecoach law should apply here, Its an old law saying that if you are on a stagecoach, You can shoot those dirty Indians.” I walked through the crowd. I got in his face. Asked him why he would say that. I never got an answer. I never saw him again that year. When I turned fourteen years old i realized how much my people were hated. I visited Denver with my school, On a Honor Roll trip. Kids with 3.3 GPAs and higher. My friend and I went into a store, Smiling and laughing, Joking together. The man behind the counter took a look at us. He pointed at us, Then the door. “We dont need your kind here. Go home. Go back to where you came from.” I have heard that sentiment Echoed through the years. One of my tribes biggest sources of revenue, Is Game and Fish. People come from across the globe, To shoot our deer, And catch our fish. They show up, And immediately insult us. They say, “If you go down there, Better hang your dream catchers, And take them whiskey, The only good indians are drunk or dead.” Do not tell me, These slights are imagined. That they are trivial. That you are sure they are good people. Thats not what I’ve seen. Thats not what I know. People complain about our Pow Wows, Our celebrations of being Native. They ask why. The faces of four white men are carved in the side of sacred mountains. We deal with that every day. They can deal with a few weekends of Pow Wows. I am not sorry that I am angry. I am not sorry if this makes you uncomfortable. I am sorry you cannot see why I am angry. I am sorry my people are weary of well wishers. My land is gone. My people are battered and nearly broken. But we are getting stronger. More of us are speaking out. My voice is but one of many. I can only hope that we are heard.

I hate how people insist we need to “save the bees” by eating more honey.