My hands are stained with the blood of my mother.
My nose has been polluted with the stench of her beauty.
My eyes have seen the pain she suffers as we watch and preach this nonviolence campaign towards her.
My body has been clothed with the sense of her mahanatanga.
I, am a hypocrite.
I speak of this no-drilling yet I am a user of the production. I speak of this no tree chopping yet I am guided by the warmth of it’s produce. I, am a hypocrite.
I speak of this pollution free sea yet you still see me downing food from the killer itself we call plastic. I, am a fake.
I call myself a kaitiaki of Papatuanuku yet each day as I am cruising in my car on these man made wounds we call roads. I, am an abuser.
I call myself a descendant of Tāne yet I’m daily ripping pages filled with mistakes and unknown answers. I, am a waster.
I call myself a protecter of Tangaroa yet each day as I bag the daily rubbish. I, am an offender.
I, am a hypocrite. If this is me and if this is you, we, are hypocrites. We, need, solutions.