I am sorry but

my history is etched into my bones. 

wide mountain ranges and crisp air,

musky farmlands, tanned farmer skin.

wherever i go, however broken, alone,

my blood remembers its kin,

its ancestral lineage, tied to the ones

that made me. 

They say you can “rewrite history” but 

I say 

history cannot be written

and be true,

You can only move

through life 

carrying it.


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