Image of God

Age 21
You took away my religion

At gun point made me a Christian

then told me God was of your image 

and I must get on my knees and start worshippin’. 

To this day my religion is banned

– Freedom of Religion – 

Your forefathers swore that when they took my land. 

Maybe it’s something I don’t understand 

– or you don’t – 

to which I hope

because my religion is more than smudging and smoke 

but it’s outlawed like all we do is dope. 

I can’t sell the land I walk on

but I can if I’m drunk

even though I know it’s wrong…

and all I am anymore is drunk. 

I’m in need of a prayer circle to hold me up. 

Instead you give me a cup 

of your God’s blood, (and I’m the blood thirsty savage?)

I call all my relations

You respond with hatred

Swearing me off as a pagan 

You’re the image of God, I’m the image of Satan. 

You banned my religion 

At gun point made me a Christian 

then convinced me 

you’re the image of God 

I’m the reflection of Satan. 


Drinking Blood

Age 20

What does liberty mean 

when you’re a refugee

getting by with nothing to eat?

Trying to keep a dream

when all you hear are screams

coming from the streets –

What is it to be free

when you’re a Blackfeet

getting by without Buffalo to eat?

Told to redefine your dream

when all you hear are screams

coming from the creek –

What is there to believe

when you’re a youth in the streets

using food stamps to eat?

“So taught” the American Dream

while you live in poverty

housed on public property –

What is there to teach

when kids can’t be reached

and you can’t afford to eat?

Living hand to mouth every week

losing faith in your dream

while gunshots ring and you hear screams –

What is there to preach 
when people only come to weep

and stay to eat?

You hear the Devil scream

when you try to sleep

then tell yourself it’s a bad dream –

How can your heart beat

when you drink the blood you bleed

because there’s not enough to eat

and you wake up just to see

the same old streets

and your people’s blood flows in peace

downstream in the Forgotten Creek

and it’s lies you teach

and it’s to the hopeless you try to preach?

Could this be what liberty means

and how to be free

or could it be a bad dream

because you drink the blood you bleed?

Belonging To Han

Age 21
I find myself an Injun with Han

A Korean burdened with Han

I never wondered where I belong

but rather what is wrong? 

They say you can’t express the sorrow of Han

but somehow find meaning and move on

There’s no words but the feeling is there

and I find it more Historians don’t care

or perhaps nobody can hear

the cries of my Grandmother’s

the cries of death from the creek. 

Ancestors still suffer 

in words they’re unable to speak. 
I find myself wrapped in the towel of Han. 

In its womb I belong

because I can’t figure out what’s wrong…

How does one move on

when so much still affects us?

They taught us in God we trust

but when acceptance isn’t enough

to get the people to look up

and put the liquor down 

or for now not be ashamed of the kimch’i in the ground.  

How do we somehow 

move on

from the intensity of Han?

R U Still Down

I don’t even know what this one was about or how old I was when I wrote it…

They say I haven’t been around
But I was there when shit hit the fan
Then came crashing down
When y’all said duct
I never hit the ground
I stood with a grenade in my hand
Fist in the air, stubborn and stoic
With my heart reciting
A dead poet
I may not change the world
But I’ll spark the mind that does
As Pac so quoted.
I didn’t make it to Vernon’s wake
But I was there with him
That night I prayed and burnt sage
And released the serenity of sweet grass
Tucked cedar in my shoe the next day
As I ran to work and class
So they say I’ve been away
Yeah, I’ve been away

 I haven’t been around much
I’ve been in my own battle zone
And my brothers and sisters I’m about to give up
If these racists that face us continues to grow
Right under our nose
Turn the other cheek?
I’d rather leave in peace
But not if it appears I’ve accepted defeat
Tired as hell
While y’all just clown around
I’m living in hell
Where y’all at now?
R U Still down?
Yeah, still hit the ground
While I threw the grenades
Y’all were there only to claim
That you were brave renegades
But had there been a moment raised
That y’all could’ve ran the other way
I’d still be there throwing grenades
By myself
I’m tired as hell
But yo’ I’ll still handle it myself

 Y’all say I’ve been gone
But I’ve been holding the front
While y’all were wrong
Wondering where I was
I was here getting shot and cut
Transfusing my own blood
Whereas y’all kicked a sista’s name around
Desecrating it across town
Where the sista at?
The one with the big trap
That never turned her back
Even when it was stabbed
She pulled the knife out herself
Yea’, by myself
While y’all front about holding down the front
I’ve been in hell
Here, by myself
So where y’all now?
R U Still Down?

Lee, Young-soo Halmoni

When you hugged me, I felt my grandmother for the first time.
All that you had to suffer, you still have strength, warmth, and love inside.
You called me your granddaughter – I could have cried;
all my life I have wished my grandmother was still alive.

But you held my hand like you were my grandma and said we were the same.
Your warmth and humor has truly made my life change.
For you, my grandmothers, Justice will one day be obtained!
Although, I already see Justice in your eyes.
Every time you smile you tell Japan you truly survived!

I admire you so much – your refusal to give up
and standing in front of Japan saying, “Enough is enough.”

Halmoni, the fight will never let go until they give everything they owe!

Halmoni, saranghayo!

Jump Off: Avoidance and Ritalin

Instead of the drama
over the birth certificate of Obama
or who gets credit for killing Osama
take a look at the budgeting for victims of sexual trauma.
Look at how the gov’t wants to control your uterus
at all the diabolical things they do to us
but instead you just
choose to shut
your eyes and get distracted
becoming a part of the fraction
screaming out “fascist”
supporting going in arms to assassin
the president
questioning his residence
it’s all subliminal messages
falling back onto racial preferences

Take some Ritalin if it gets you to pay attention
to their real intention
They perfected their suggestions
for you to live in fear
but it’s mere distraction from the lobbying of billionaires
most are the last to care
that you’re getting screwed over on your taxes each year.
They’ve shaken keys above your head
so you look up and shut up, instead
of asking “what the fuck?”
Budget cuts
misallocation of funds.
Ideal politicking on twitter, tumbler, or facebook
Utilize social media into action & get into the grassroots
like Annabel when she helped turn Virginia blue
then founded the Coffee Party with hopes of solutions.
Take a look at the North African-Arab revolutions.
Citizens pumping their fists & taking back their country
after years of oppression, suppression, in the face of repression
or others running across the border of North Korea to get to the hungry
Nothing is as useless as a “rebel without a cause.”
We hand out medals to guitar and MIC facades
encourage living as frauds

Buying into an image
avoiding realness paying up to gimmicks
but give a minute
and look at all these staggering facts
astounding women like MIWSAC
or an elder for over 36 years never relapsed
Never seemed to look back
but never forgot
always thought
gently talked, taught
humbly walked
held onto his native language
even through the anguish
then went across seas and fought.

Status updates and all talk
Who takes credit for the shot
More importantly who murked Biggie & Tupac?
My bad… Lost train of thought…

Take the Ritalin prescription
Hush up and listen
Question decisions
Question the overpopulated prison
Why so many Brown folk living there?
Why are they proven innocent after they perish?
Is it to keep them off the streets out of fear
or to kill our spirits?
Why wasn’t it okay to trash talk Dubya
but can openly say let’s lynch Barack?
Is it fear of his race or the rumors of his father’s religion?
Get on Twitter and look at #tcot
you’d see Hawai’i must no longer be a state and freedom of religion
is only applicable if Christian.
Avoid looking at the foreclosure of property
now how many more are living in poverty
but first let’s blame Barack because we don’t live problem free…Hypocrisy!
Page in Donald Trump!
A billionaire will clean this up
or make up junk
to ease our fears of this “stuff.”
You want to make a difference then take a stand
instead of tweeting or updating what you don’t understand but think you can
articulate without someone raising their hands
and putting you on blast.
It sounds as petty as what the topic is
but if you don’t understand politics…
Then grab a tea-bag and go with the others
who choose to be paranoid so they can avoid
understanding one another…

That Pathetic Injun

In the halls the green cheerleaders are spinnin’
Beneath their feet is a lonely Injun
That the people mocked by making him a gimmick
The feathers sit on top of his head
His skin a light shade of red
Myths and legends are bred
Another victim of manifested destiny
He’s responsible for all the pregnancies
Not like these white teens would be active sexually
That poor Injun with no voice or opinion
Lying beneath the feet of bigots

In the city of Cleveland
A people of genocide have yet to stop bleedin’.
That dirty Injun’s exactly as you perceive him.
A single feather on his scalp
Hitting his mouth as he runs with a bounce.
Blood red skin
With big eyes and a stupid grin
Only God knows where one stereotype ends and the other begins
As the worlds spins, poverty still over takes Pine Ridge
This Injun has yet to close his eyelids
Still he can’t see who’s behind it
nor does he care to stop the violence

Home of the Braves, ATL, home of a Tomahawk craze
Hit your mouth, jig, and spit on a race
Take a moment to erase
A sacred tradition, mock an Inun
Sent out on a mission to make a warrior’s decision
Let the Cowboy keep livin’
or make him as dead as the race he isn’t
Do the Tomahawk, Tomahawk, Tomahawk
Kind of like the robot
but put a little jig and a walk
Don’t forget to whop as you chop
Now you’re a REAL BRAVE
And what does an Injun have to say?

The scoreboard reads 28 to none
The jersey holds a memory of cowboys with guns
Blue and silver
Newspapers say they’re killers
They massacred them there Redskins
Boy, ole, boy, them some nice fine Redskins
Red, yellow, and white jerseys
but the helmet ain’t got no grin
This Injun looks like he could hurt me
The red-brown skin with feathers on his head
Lordy Lord have mercy
Thank God all them pathetic Injuns is dead