Posted on | Poetry

Like a Kahawai

He called me a boy
I almost ripped my skin off
He said break the mirror
Slice me open like a kahawai.

The ocean won’t save you
You just want the scales
so you can shed your skin
But I’m not in your skin
I’m the blood that flows through your veins.

Where is my sovereignty?
This boy is in my body
This body is not mine
But my ancestors live in my bo-

Your family calls you a boy
What? Are you going to tell them you’re not one?
Didn’t think so.
You think you can escape me.

You think your pen is a weapon
That your poems will make me vanish
I am your childhood.
I am your future.

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Donavan Kamakani Albano is a māhū Kanaka ʻŌiwi poet from Kāneʻohe, Oʻahu, with genealogical ties to the island of Maui. Raised in Kalihilihiolaumiha, Kamakani holds an MA in Indigenous Politics.

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