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Rated: E · Poetry · Family · #2240697
A poetic genesis of my identity of whom I have become through adoption by Cherokee people!

You follow me faithfully
to the places that I go
alongside people that I
know. Nor could I ever
prove this were true.

There is something different
about me that you know all
about, a substance in my
genes that express themselves
subtly so.

I am able to go where it is
that I choose to go. To say
you are within me, around me
is true. You made me, I did
not make you.

There isn't a single world
you cannot see, a single
place you cannot travel
to. Sometimes you have a
singular eye for all of us
to see.

Sometimes you're like a
finger, dangling rope-like
from above, dropping down
and striking swiftly on
moment's notice.

I sometimes see you
long before the others
do, they who race to
desktops with charts and
cellphones frantically.

You've tricked them many
times with your howling
taunts, your screams
from some demon's hell,
your malignant glare.

Or maybe you'll play
a child's game, twirling
dust devils around a
corral or even pour
watery spouts on those
calm, sunny seas.

From since Time existed
for me, through infant
eyes you fascinated me,
told me secrets ever
so innocently.

I did not make you,
but you created that
within me. You allow
me at times to fathom
your paths, angry at
times you so are ...

I am Windtalker.

I did not make you.

But you became me.
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