I am not what happened to me.

The songs on my nostalgia playlist are not the soundtrack of my abuse.

They are not the underscoring symphony of my pain and downfalls.

They are the backing track to my childhood.

Those songs don’t symbolize my trauma 

They’re not a reminder of the things they made me do

The objects I was made to insert into my body

The pain it caused

Instead they are American Girl Dolls and Pillow Pets

Dandelions and daffodils 

Sunny days spent on the swing set 

Twinkles Toes and Twister and tulips and trampolines and treehouses 

They are the innocence I still possessed 

Not the innocence I never wanted to lose

They are not the heartbreak I endured at the hands of people who swore to protect me

They are screaming along to ‘The Way I Loved You’ as though I’d ever been through a breakup

I am not a victim.

I am victorious.

I am not a rape victim.

I am a rape survivor. 

I am like a strong old tree

Deeply scarred from wind and storms

But firm and sturdy

A story of triumph of what I’ve overcome

Not a sob story of what I was forced to endure

I was not a little girl who went through Hell.

I was a tiny warrior who marched through Hell with a smile.

I am who the demons themself cower in fear at.

I am sick of telling others about my past 

Just to be greeted with ‘Well, now you’re strong’

Because I’m not just strong now, I always was.

I am Sonsee-Array.

The Indian name my babu gave me.

Apache for ‘Morning Star’.

And like a morning star, 

I blaze and burn, glimmer and glow.

I am the light that pierces the dark sky. 

I am the blood of my ancestors.

The voice to tell the story they never got to share.

My story’s in the wind 

It soars like the mighty eagle

My story’s in my eyes

As big and blue as the ocean

It’s in my braids

Orangey-yellow like a marigold

I am the sister they couldn’t steal.

I am the little girl who ran around at the rez.

I am the young woman who loves her God and strives to protect her people 

I am not what happened to me.