I am not a poet,
I am not a writer,
I am the one that...
I gave you my soul,
Twisted and abused,
Full of Indian and whites,
Indian with red skin
whites we call wa-che-shoo
in indian tongues
Picking me, from the rest,
How I miss you, tears fall from
my agony..I will call you
my friend? my love? my gone.
Living in a world
Indian is racism,
white is the power,.
where lies, my Claudia,
somewhere in the darkness
my distant memories
soft kisses. Distance
I love you,.