Indigenous Arts & Stories - Pieces of war and peace

To say that I haven't been treated with privilege because of the color of my skin would be a lie.But to say that I haven't been ostracized would be to deny a big part of myself.

Being fair skinned has gained me entry into many places a dark skinned person might be excluded,feel rejected and dismissed. But it has also excluded me from the culture I desperately wish to connect with; to be a part of.I can't say that I blame them for the looks. The whispers they preach quietly, but just loud enough for me to hear. They don't want me here. I make them nervous. I don't blame them. My very own blood has cast out every part of.Me.I am not welcome anywhere.

My skin is light,but my soul lives in the dirt,rises from the fire, and heals with the plants. My ancestors made this land what it is. They simultaneously breathed life into it,and sucked the life out of it. They brought life and death. Love and torture. They built a civilization, and killed a culture. How am I supposed to feel whole, when the very blood that runs through my veins, is at war?

"You don't fit in here" their eyes say. Their lips pass on the language they specifically designed to tear me apart. But I don't blame them.

I've learned to dance to the beat of my own drum. Be it a ceremonial piece, passed down through generations,or a kit bought from a store that built it's dreams on the graves of my own people. What other choice do I have, but to pretend I don't hear their cries, ripping me open and exposing me for what I am? I'll never fit in. But I refuse to feel ashamed. I am a native woman, and I have fair skin. I eat salmon and bannock at pow wows. I eat corn and burgers at bbqs. I live off reserve, but I live off the land. The perfectly imperfect combination;a product of love,risen up out of the pain my ancestors have forced upon each other.

I am built out of war, but I am at peace.