i imagine you at age seven, running wild and free through grass and ocean.

your hair wild in the wind, ehu, catching sunlight and challenging those who would call you impostor.

your heart marked you what your blood did not. maori.

i can hear your voice, distinct with the sounds of being young and unburdened.



i am afraid of becoming you now.

you laughed when you told me the story of your childhood, and how you were teased.

it made my heart hurt that you still… Continue