My body is sacred.
It comes from the earth.
Invasive species do not phase me,
But oil and coal try to erase me.
My body is sacred.
The blood in my veins flows through me like the rushing rivers in kitawahsinnoon (our territory).
Just as Naato’si (the sun) raises and falls so, does the air in my lungs.
I do not cut my hair or bleach it.
For it lays in the roots of Sipatsimon (the sweetgrass) that grows in the creek.
My body is sacred.
My cheekbones stand high like inii (buffalo),
And are not meant to be slapped or punched.
My body is sacred.
My breasts are not for you to touch or sexualize.
The chrysalis of my ribcage protects my heart while, the alveoli nourishes the life of our pookaaiks (children).
My body is sacred,
It is not a temple; it is a valley.
Although my bones crackle and ache and sometimes break,
They are long and strong like Katoyis (sweet pine).
My body is sacred,
It is not meant to be owned or destroyed.
My body is sacred.
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