I find you in very common places. I see you around nowhere special. Sometimes it’s while I’m in-between, while I’m just passing by. Sometimes you are a blur to me. We cross paths as I’m coming home from a space where we think, talk and pray about ones like you.
For my past, present, future and nothing more or no one else I battle the war within of dysfunctional beauty and hopeful wounds the things people have told me the things I’ve hidden inside of me I cry out loud praying for a break in the cycle I laugh out
There’s an Inupiaq word that describes the moment when you suddenly, for the first time, recognize that you are a part of this world. In English, it’s simply called your earliest memory. But in my language, it’s a monumental experience. It’s a stakeholder in your past. It is an awareness
Inuit birthing tattoos have only recently returned. I’ve been on the journey for almost two years and it’s the most intimate journey but from within. These lines tell a thousand times a thousand stories of women with the depth and responsibility to advance our people forward. When they vanished from
Spoken word, written summer 2017 What it means to be Native has evolved I’m rehabilitative you will recall being so derogative I have dissolved your control your authorities your goal and your priorities Within the stitches that you sew into the front pocket of a pattern you borrowed comes the
Spoken word poem, written July 2012 I sit to write out the revelation to start coversations on the bodily invasions of girls men use to cure sexual frustrations The two boys in the stories that I mention saw me as a girl without protection they used their erection and looked