Home is not Home
(By: Kimberlin Hunt, 1 st place poetry winner)
In my community, it’s hard to be Indian, But so easy to be everything else...
It’s cool to rock the latest brands
But how many do you see with eagle fans?
You’re more than likely to see them in the street,
Yet they don’t know the streets history.
Robeson County, home of the Lumbee,
The largest tribe this side of the Mississippi.
Yet that means nothing in my community.
Remember in ’59 when we stood our ground and ran out the KKK?
Or that time in 1872 when our ancestors hid Henry away?
In my community, we’ve lost our sense of Indian.
We’d rather lose ourselves and depend on the next one.
Culture died when it became about tribes.
Now everyone’s trying to pick sides, yet not many know if they’re even right.
Because earning feathers aren’t a fad that’s in.
But they drop $250 on the latest Jordan’s.
In my community, Single mothers are a trend.
And if you’re not addicted to something, you won’t fit in.
Here Fighting fair is no longer a thing. Now it’s no words, just a piece that goes bang.
My goal is to help find unity in such a divided community…
Sadly my community doesn’t realize that with all the hurt and pain,
Only show that we’ve lost everything our ancestors helped us gain.
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