So tonight I was going through some old poems I had written when I was younger… like 16-18 years. I started to actually write my poems and saving them when I had moved away from my home town (However, I do know there are stacks of books and papers from much earlier poems that I had written when I was kid, in my house I grew up in back on my First Nation).

This is one of the poems I had written almost right after my car accident. I was 15 years old. I can’t find the paper version of it, but when I first moved to London I spent a great deal of time converting the poems that I could find that I had written on paper and trying to find a computer so that I could save them. I always used the library’s computer or the few people I managed to meet–their computers. I did this because when I first moved to London, I wanted to save my writings. (I didn’t want people who I hung around with to read them or find them–I think I would have been embarrassed if anyone read them then… Maybe because I lacked confidence/self-esteem). I moved here knowing nobody, no friends, no family. I couldn’t call home until a month after I arrived–when I started to meet people. You’re probably asking yourself, why didn’t I used a pay phone? When I moved away from home, I felt lost. I felt ashamed. I felt embarrassed. I didn’t even know where I was going to live, which city even… I was literally lost, physically & spiritually….

I spent 9 months without a mailing address or a way for my family to call me to check up on me. I had to call them, make sure to let them know that I was still alive. So, school pretty much saved me. If it weren’t for school, I don’t know where I would be right now–I guess that’s why it really bothers me when people say “Aboriginals get everything for free…” or that “Aboriginals have it best…” or that “Aboriginals shouldn’t get money for education…” Like I said earlier, if it weren’t for school or education, I don’t know where I would be.

As I said before, this is one the earlier poems. I can’t remember why I wrote it, or what I was feeling. Some of my poems from my teen years is pretty dark… it freaks me out even that I could even think to write some of the things I had written. Fortunately for me, I now use writing as an outlet. I realize that I love to write, and that writing has given me the confidence to convey my thoughts (especially after my car accident and my acquired brain injury).

This poem… I left it untitled, and I am not sure why. I would have liked to call it “This poem is me…”, but this poem is not who I am anymore. Maybe it was me then, but it is not me anymore…

This poem is me,
As crazy as it may seem.
Come close,
Come see;
The little girl,
Running around,
So care free.
The little girl,
So neat and clean.
Come see;
As crazy as it may seem
The little girl,
Who cries herself to sleep.