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The Pain I Carry

To the universe, mother earth, and my ancestors who birthed me.

Sometimes I forget the purpose of my existence and the meaning of my life. Sometimes I forget about the wounds endured by my ancestors. I forget about the battles that they fought for me to be alive today. I have so many lessons to learn but, yet, I still forget. I don’t want to forget all the things my ancestors endured; the sweat that they bled building their house made out of cow manure and dirt. I don’t want to forget the scars that were left by the colonizers, I don’t want to forget the women who came before me and who birthed me through their canal giving me their light. I refuse to forget what was done to my ancestors and to the pain that was passed down to me. I want to know myself, I want to love myself, and most importantly I want to transend my pain. I want the world to know who I am and about the pain I carry. I am the one of many survivors and I want my ancestors to know that I acknowledge them every day. I am them and they run through my veins. I refuse to forget the medicine that makes my wounds feel like they don’t exist; even if it’s for only a few minutes. They are the reason for my existence and my existence is the resistance that they wanted.

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