Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Living on the rez with a handful of thought (and nowhere to throw it)
It must be fate that lets this blood run red
Within my veins. It pulsates and vibrates
And sends shivers throughout my body. My wish
For it to stay inside my body, not outside,
Almost always goes unheard. I cannot win,
Even when I've the highest hand.
With my feathers in the palm of my hand,
My mirror-like face flushes a discrete red,
Giving my secret confusion away. I cannot win,
My voice begins to quiver and in my chest it vibrates
To a sob that leaks out of my mouth. It's outside,
And in the open. I relinquish my wish.
Did I grow up on the rez with a death wish?
Would this little hybrid girl take knife in hand
And carve a way outside
Of all this chaos, no. There was no way out, only red.
All of this crimson gathers and vibrates.
All of this crimson, it waxes and wins.
Beaded barrettes, dream catchers, would I win
If I confessed my shame? Does it make me pathetic? I wish
The answer to come alive in my mind, to vibrate
The soul I know I must have. Crushing glass in my hand,
Praying to learn my song, my dance, the red
Pours to the ground, planted, I grow outside.
I have allowed my soul to get outside
Of myself. It catches itself, it wins.
But while laying on the bathroom floor, a pool of red
Meeting at my head, I breathe out prayers and breathe in wishes.
Is it weird to say Mother God grasped my hand?
I guess through someone I shall vibrate.
Though the culture buzzes, the heritage vibrates
And shudders are indulged in the outside
Of myself. No stigmata mark my hands.
Sometimes I feel dead, but then I would win
Against my bodily self. My selfish wish
Was always to look more red. I'm far from red.
I lost my dissimilarity, the vibration. Along the way there were no wins.
I buried it outside, a shallow grave I dig up to look and wish
Upon the former me with cold hands, the me killed the red.
January 6, 2006
Suge
Within my veins. It pulsates and vibrates
And sends shivers throughout my body. My wish
For it to stay inside my body, not outside,
Almost always goes unheard. I cannot win,
Even when I've the highest hand.
With my feathers in the palm of my hand,
My mirror-like face flushes a discrete red,
Giving my secret confusion away. I cannot win,
My voice begins to quiver and in my chest it vibrates
To a sob that leaks out of my mouth. It's outside,
And in the open. I relinquish my wish.
Did I grow up on the rez with a death wish?
Would this little hybrid girl take knife in hand
And carve a way outside
Of all this chaos, no. There was no way out, only red.
All of this crimson gathers and vibrates.
All of this crimson, it waxes and wins.
Beaded barrettes, dream catchers, would I win
If I confessed my shame? Does it make me pathetic? I wish
The answer to come alive in my mind, to vibrate
The soul I know I must have. Crushing glass in my hand,
Praying to learn my song, my dance, the red
Pours to the ground, planted, I grow outside.
I have allowed my soul to get outside
Of myself. It catches itself, it wins.
But while laying on the bathroom floor, a pool of red
Meeting at my head, I breathe out prayers and breathe in wishes.
Is it weird to say Mother God grasped my hand?
I guess through someone I shall vibrate.
Though the culture buzzes, the heritage vibrates
And shudders are indulged in the outside
Of myself. No stigmata mark my hands.
Sometimes I feel dead, but then I would win
Against my bodily self. My selfish wish
Was always to look more red. I'm far from red.
I lost my dissimilarity, the vibration. Along the way there were no wins.
I buried it outside, a shallow grave I dig up to look and wish
Upon the former me with cold hands, the me killed the red.
January 6, 2006
Suge
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Living on the rez with a handful of thought (and nowhere to throw it)
Living on the rez with a handful of thought (and nowhere to throw it)
