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Jul 2020 · 140
Asshole
Irkar Beljaars Jul 2020
You might be an *******
if you break up with a
woman and then get your
friends to spread vile stories
about her instead of being a
stand up, guy.

You might be an ******* if
you like putting people down
in order to make yourself feel
good instead of confronting
your insecurities and dealing
with them.

You might be an ******* if
you like to touch women
whenever you want and brag
about it instead of not putting
your hand's on women and
treating them like human beings.

From the pulpit to the office,
the classroom, to the gym.
******* are everywhere
And when you die, people
always remember whether
or not you were an *******.
Jun 2020 · 134
The Sound of Silence.
Irkar Beljaars Jun 2020
The voices are gone
the doubt, the fear,
the shame, the hatred
all that is left..is me
the silence has begun

I sit here, alone in a
crowd, fighting the urge
to scream. My fight has
just begun, my misery
ready to pounce but
I am ready.

Day after day I fight
to keep my sanity
and hold on to who
I am. And day after
day my demons fall.

Slowly the sensations
dim, the battle is coming
to a close, the war will
go on but this time there
is hope that healing can
begin.

I see the path ahead of
me, it’s a path of love,
wisdom and an understanding
of ones self. Theone'sence
has ended and my voice is
ready.
Jun 2020 · 159
Dear Karen
Irkar Beljaars Jun 2020
Let’s talk, I know you
feel the need to speak
your mind. That you
need to get your hair and
nails done. Even if it
means putting others
at risk.

I know you feel that
you’re entitled to call
the police because a little
girl is selling water
or because of a family is
having a BBQ. The fact
that they are black has
nothing to do with it.

I know you feel that
because you love God
and go to church every
week gives you the right
to tell other women what
they can and can’t do
with their bodies.

I know you think the
world revolves around you,
that it’s okay to carry
signs with **** slogans
but you’re not racist
because you have
Jewish friends.

I know you think it’s
okay to forgive a man
with multiple **** allegations
who lies constantly
because he’s white, rich
and the president.

I know you find it
hard to believe that a
black woman could
be a student at Yale
or a doctor or a
district attorney or
a human being.

I know that you feel
being called Karen is
some form of racial
slur, that you feel
oppressed even bullied.
That you don’t understand
why everything is not
about you.

Well, Karen, it was never
about you, so go back to
your empty conversations,
your bubbles of white
privilege and your cottages
on the lake and let the real
world alone, we are much
better off without your fake.
Dec 2018 · 180
#NottheWhiteColor
Irkar Beljaars Dec 2018
It’s all about you, you’re
the guy who found religion
the one who tells everyone what they
should think but screams victim
when challenged.

You ***** a woman behind
a bar and get more sympathy
than the woman you violated.
Judges will protect you, give
you a lighter sentence for
your “5 minutes of action.”

You drive drunk killing four
people but you serve no
time because of who your
daddy is. You get a suspended
sentence.

You shot a black man for
Knocking on your door. You
Shot Colton and ***** Tina
but it’s okay, they weren’t
The white color anyway.

You drive a van into a crowd
because a woman won’t sleep
with you. They won’t call you terrorist
because that term is only for
those who are brown.

You shoot a man sitting in his backyard
22 times for holding a cell phone
and then take a mass shooter to
burger king before taking him to jail.

You walk around with tiki
torches, dressed as prep school
boys armed to the teeth. You drive
a car into a crowd killing a woman
but there are “good people on both
sides”

Taking responsibility has been replaced
by hypocrisy, understanding by ignorance,
the right thing by the right wing
But none of that matters when you’re
Not the White Color
Sep 2018 · 163
Journey’s End
Irkar Beljaars Sep 2018
I sit there watching,
as the last minutes
of your life reveal to me
the path you have taken.

I hear your cries as you
wake in an abandoned
world....alone. Taking
your first steps with the
help of no one.

You’re left with those
nobody wants and yet you
find your voice, you find
your soul, you find your strength.

I watch as you grow into yourself
into your person. I watch as the world
takes advantage of you in
unspeakable ways but never
breaks you.

I watch you carry your first child
and then your second. You teach
us to live, to love who we become.
Your touch creates beauty everywhere
you go.

Your spirit is strong even though
your body is not. I watch you struggle,
unable to help but you tell me not
to worry.

I watch you fall, trapped between this
world and the next I am reminded that
all paths must end. As you expel your
last breath I see your spirit escape to
freedom.

I smile as the tears roll down my face
for I now know that your path has not
ended but continues.....in the hearts of
those your beauty touched and the
lives you changed.
Sep 2018 · 164
Faded Memories
Irkar Beljaars Sep 2018
I dreamt about you last night
first time in 6 years but it felt like yesterday
A spring afternoon with the sun on our faces
the first time I said I love you

You pulled me up from the depths of hell
and locked up all the demons
You made the bad dreams go away and
for the first time taught me to live

You had my heart the first time I saw you
you sauntered in and made yourself at home
you put a smile on my face
whenever you walked into a room

Your smile burned so bright, it was enough
to make me weak in the knees
Your love was even stronger but
it was your humanity that made you perfect

I dreamt about you last night
first time in 6 years but it felt like yesterday
You’re gone now but that’s okay for
the lessons you taught me are still here
and because of that I still love me
Sep 2018 · 202
A million faces
Irkar Beljaars Sep 2018
You’re the face of the angry parent, cutting me down with your words.
The face of the bullies waiting in the school yard to share their insecurities with me.

You’re the face of the neighbor, the best friend, the preacher, the teacher, the face of the men who ***** me.

You’re the face of the police officer, the judge, the politician. Those who would rather blame the victim than deal with violence so many of us face on a daily basis.

You’re the face of the vanishing lover and the absentee father, your the face in the bathroom mirror that I can’t wipe away.

You’re the faces that I carry with me everyday. You remind me that I’m still here, that you did not break me. The face that I wear may be cracked and worn but it is one of dignity, strength and defiance.

The face is me
Apr 2018 · 412
Stolen
Irkar Beljaars Apr 2018
From the moment you are born there is someone out there ready to take you, they see you as more of a commodity than a person. They created laws so they could legally destroy you. You are left with soulless men and women who reached into your soul to try and turn you into one of them.

Their stinging words that come from the end of a switch, beating, ****** their ideology into your soul. Punishments come when you try to be yourself and as the years go by you slowly begin to disappear. And when they are done with you they toss you aside, leaving you with a lifetime of scars that never truly heal.

Generations of souls with no place to go, ending up on the streets of broken glass and towers of steel, drinking poison to dull the pain. You were taught to hate yourself by, taught to hate your people, your way of life. You continue to walk the path of broken glass and spent needles looking for your next release from the pain.

You want to give up, but you can’t for that goes against their beliefs. You try and escape with a pocket full of memories and a faint hope that the Creator is watching. You meet more lost souls on your journey all seeking to be healed. Together you begin to share stories something which is forbidden but you do it anyway. You soon discover that you are not alone and through these shared stories you have found a new family and a way to heal.

Your new found family invite you to sweat, as the heat rises your memories start to return. You share your story of the soul takers, the empty ones, the aliens who violated your world. As the heat increases, the songs get louder. Loud enough for the Great Spirit to reach down and heal you. For the first time in many years you see your mother, your family all your relations.

Like the tears flowing down your face so do the memories return to your soul, piecing you back together like a broken mirror. And though cracks remain they are there to remind you that you have lived. The Great Spirit leaves one parting lesson, go out she says, go out and find my children, bring them to the sweat , save as many as you can.

So you return to the streets of broken glass and towers of steel. You slowly bring your brothers and sisters to the sweat and together you begin to teach our youth to work together, to heal the land and it’s people. So future generations can grow into their destinies.
Inspired by the many survivors of Canada's Residential Schools
Apr 2018 · 197
Grow
Irkar Beljaars Apr 2018
Grow

I am a man who has made  
mistakes, I have fallen down many
times but I get up. I continue to grow.

You, want to remember me for who
I was not for who I am. You demean me,
you see what you want to see.

I challenge myself. I continue to grow.

You tell stories about me. You try to hurt me.

I fall in love. I continue to grow.

You hate her. You call her a *****.

Together we grow, our love becomes
stronger.

You try to break us up.
You fail.

We build our lives together,
our love creates one more.

Your hatred begins to consume you, you’re
left bitter and cold.

Our love forgives your hate.

Your hate begins to fade, becoming a
distant memory.

Our love continues.
Apr 2018 · 193
Single Mom
Irkar Beljaars Apr 2018
You were born only to be abandoned. You grew up with the unwanted, herded like cattle by strangers in white collars. People passing you by like yesterday’s news.

Abuse was a daily issue, something to be expected and something that happened often. You would carry the sting of their violations like scar on your soul. But you wouldn’t let it corrupt you.

You found love with a man who created troubled landscapes, who gave you two children. And when you began to thrive that man who created those landscapes walked away.

He left you behind with two mouths to feed. You found a strength you never knew you had. And when another bout with love gave you one more you still stood tall.

The life you created came out in your art. You were a teacher, you taught us about our traditions, our people.  Your stories were so popular that children from different lands began to benefit from hearing about our history and ancestors.

Then one day in May, you went to sleep, you joined our ancestors in the spirit world. People from all over who were touched by you shared their stories but we were the ones left to pick up the pieces.

Now 25 years later, we thrive. Like you taught us, we continued the story. We see you every day in the smiles and laughter of your grandchildren. You taught us to grow, to be ourselves and because of that you will never be truly gone.
Apr 2018 · 212
Addicted to the Real
Irkar Beljaars Apr 2018
I see them on the screen, they lie to me, pretend to want me. They twist me into something I’m not and teach me all the wrong things.

They tell me how to love, tell me that it’s okay. I want to stop but I can’t, they taunt me in my dreams and are there when I wake and go to sleep.

I know that this is not right, that I need to escape. I fight to disconnect  to log out, to be free.

I want, I need someone real. I want to feel the goose bumps rise as I caress them.  I let their scent intoxicate me, arouse me. Their touch bringing me back to life.

Steamy windows created by the heat of our souls embrace. Drops of sweat mingle like lovers dancing to the sounds of heart beats coming together. Losing each other in ecstasy as we explode and colapse in a molten embrace.

Your eyes speak to my soul, asking me for more. As I kiss your trembling lips with their taste like a drug. Our bodies connect once more, I hear you gasp as you open yourself up to me. The smile, anticipating a river of ecstasy flowing over us, drowning us in love once more.
Irkar Beljaars Apr 2018
I have feared many things as I walked through the trees that lay in the shadows of my life. I have felt the stings of their violations. Tasted the blood of my many broken hearts, been broken and rebuilt.

Enemies, frenemies, friends. They all wear the same mask, some walk with me, some work against me but few help me. I was born in anger, grew up in hatred and lived in tears. A smile hides the pain and loneliness.

The sun begins to rise, I see the light through the trees of this forest I walk. My scars slowly begin to heal, my heart begins to wake. The hatred and pain start to fade and as I wipe away the tears new memories begin to grow.

As I emerge from the forest the sun, so bright that at first that I shy away from its gaze. But then it dawns on me, this is what the journey is all about.
My scars begin to disappear my, heart once again begins to fill me with warmth. My life is healing, I am growing, I am free.
Mar 2018 · 513
Untitled
Irkar Beljaars Mar 2018
How many of us have to to die, go missing, be ***** before justice listens? The blood our people have spilled have wet the ground for centuries. Our children have been stolen, our families shattered and our land taken all due to the arrogance of white men.

To this day our people have been made to live in fear, a fear that has been driven, beaten, shot, stabbed and ***** into our very bodies. In the last 500 years our identities have been bombarded by men who are called pillars of our history. Their statues litter the land, a reminder of the atrocities they committed and fawned over by their ancestors.

The schools tried to erase us, the men with white collars, callous hearts and empty souls, the sting of their violations like ripples in a pool lasting generations. They taught hate in schools, they created Gerald Stanley and Raymond Cormier and thousands like them. They created ignorance that we feel even today.

Our two faced politicians who shed tears, kiss babies and at the same time deny our children basic human rights. Their tears buying our votes with empty promises and back room deals, selling away our children, our land and our souls.

We never forgot, the generations of genocide would not let us. “A good Indian is a dead Indian” the man on the radio says, his words are like the stones thrown at women, children and elders during the Crisis. The violence we experienced that day was just another chapter in the long history of massacres, land theft, stolen children and degradation.

The change that our two faced politicians talk about is the trickle down economics of social change, I say trickle down because like every other promise it doesn’t exist. I grow tired of the fight but I know that we must continue. We are the symbol of the voice yet to be born. The words of our elders continue to lead us, guide us like they always have on the path towards growth.

We must continue to educate and fight the ignorance that permeates every corner of our society. It’s the idea that must be destroyed, the idea of white supremacy which has plagued our land for centuries. Growth cannot happen without truth and that cannot happen without honesty. To have true honesty our society will have to look in the mirror and acknowledge that of which most of them cannot, that hate exists.

We must acknowledge that white supremacy helped Gerald Stanley and Raymond Cormier commit and get away with their horrific crimes. Change will only happen when we no longer allow fear to hold us back, to keep our mouths shut. Change will happen when we look at each other as equals and help one another to heal, to grow and to teach.

We are not defined by a stereotype, we are not the alcoholic, the drug addict, the *** worker, or the homeless person. We are teachers, doctors, social workers, lawyers and Chiefs. We are actors, writers, poets, singers and Djs. But most importantly we are nations of people, people that have been the stewards of this land for a millennia.

We are people who refuse to be victims, we refuse to have child services take our children away from their mother’s breast. We refuse to be silent when our sisters go missing and are murdered and we refuse to believe that the police are doing everything they can.

We will not stay silent when the media places blame on the Coltons and Tina’s over the world, this victim blaming must stop. The white patriarchy cannot continue to own our future. We as Indigenous peoples will take back our story and we will be the ones to write the next chapter.

A chapter where our sisters do not go missing, where our youth have a future, and a chapter where our communities are thriving. I refuse to accept despair and pain, I’d rather believe in hope, growth and love. That is how we create change. When remembering the words of my late mother, a closed fist is a closed mind, while an open hand reveals an open heart.

Change is a beautiful thing, we are the masters of our own future. We will bring down the walls that divide us and together bring the change this land sorely needs.
Mar 2018 · 305
The Gas Lighter
Irkar Beljaars Mar 2018
You came into my life wearing a mask, with this mask you covered yourself in lies and manipulations. You were loud, obnoxious and charming, you called yourself a Queen.. but you were anything but. You pretended to be my friend, helped me when no one else would. Made rely on you, made me trust you and when you had your claws in me only then did your true colours begin to show.

You started hitting me but I wouldn’t defend myself, like the bullies of old I had become a man filled with fear and anxiety. When I asked you to stop you began using words to belittle me and cut me to the bone. Still I did nothing, paralyzed by the mistakes of the past, mistakes that you used to keep your hold on me.

When you started to touch me, I did not know what to do and every time you did I was 8 years old again being assaulted by my neighbour. I did not know what to do, you controlled the information. So I stayed silent, too afraid of what you would do. Belittled by your words I became further lost and just when I thought it couldn’t get worse....you ***** me.

It began when you threatened to hurt yourself, that you would do something crazy if I didn’t let you have me. I wanted to say no but I knew if I did I would lose friends and my anxiety, my fear made me say yes. You would use that excuse to **** me again and again, it got to the point that I would cringe every time I saw your name come up on my view screen.

Whenever I started dating you would get mad, call them ****** and various other names. You hated what they represented, they were a barrier between you and me so you did your best to dehumanize them, call them names, try and make me feel the same way. You wanted me for yourself, what was it you said to me. “All the work I’ve put in to you and you choose the *****.”

That was the moment, the moment I saw a crack of light and the light was freedom.  

You began to make mistakes, your lies became more transparent and I became stronger. The abuse got worse as did your lies until one day a war between us broke out. But this time I had words of my own, years of pain broke free and like a mighty river I broke out of the prison you put me in. Every time you tried to deflect my words it only made my resolve stronger. Until you blamed me for everything, making it out to be my fault.

That was the moment I woke up, like a prisoner in solitary confinement I was finally free. That crack of light became a gaping hole and when stepped through I felt my sins wash away, I was wounded but I was free.

I ended my connection to you that day and now nearly 4 years later the scars have begun to heal. You are a simple afterthought and empty person who loves only himself and who needs a mask to hide his shame, his insecurity, his cowardice.

Today I breath freely knowing that you cannot hurt me. Though the damage you caused still prevents from allowing love into my life I have at least learned to love myself and those around me. And even after all the pain you caused me I feel that I can say this.

I forgive you.

I say this not for you but for me. I know now that it was never my fault and I refuse to carry this pain for another day. You can’t hurt me, you don’t scare me and you never will. My life is filled with people who love me and who treat me with dignity. That breath of fresh air that passes through me every morning is me knowing that I am on the path the Creator set out for me, a path of forgiveness, dignity and most of all....love!
Mar 2018 · 1.5k
Respect is four letter word.
Irkar Beljaars Mar 2018
Inspired by the Colton Boushie verdict.


There is no respect when one of us is shot.
There is no respect when our children are taken away.
There is no respect when one of us goes missing or is murdered.

There is no respect when we have no drinking water and live in 3rd world shacks.
There is no respect when the RCMP break down our doors and throw our elders to the floor.
There is no respect when it is okay for a white man to **** us and the media tells everyone we are to blame.

There is no respect.
There is apathy.
There is ignorance.
There is violence.
There is death.
There is silence.

But


There is a voice born everyday.
A community that continues to grow.
There is an elder who continues to teach.
And there is a path we must continue to walk.

There is a fire in our hearts that will never go out.
And those voices born today will teach those born tomorrow that we will never fail.
Because together we will have justice in this life or the next for this path never ends.
Mar 2018 · 266
If I could go back
Irkar Beljaars Mar 2018
If I could go back

I would have played by myself.

I would have gone far enough away so I couldn’t hear your voices.

I would have learned to run faster.

If I could go back.

I wouldn’t have gone to your house.

I wouldn’t have let you touch me.

I wouldn’t have let you **** me.

I would have told my mom.

If I could go back.

I wouldn’t have eaten my lunch in the cafeteria.

I wouldn’t have believed you when you said you were my friends.

I wouldn’t have tolerated your bullying.

I would have stood up to you.

If I could go back.

I wouldn’t have left you that morning.

I would have talked to you more.

I would learned CPR.

If I could go back.

I wouldn’t have let you hit me.

I wouldn’t have let you abuse me.

I walked away from you.

I can’t go back so…

I’m going to heal.

I’m going to speak loudly for justice.

I’m going to stand up to oppression.

I’m going to love myself.
Mar 2018 · 375
Living the Dream
Irkar Beljaars Mar 2018
Inspired by Tina Fontaine

I’m living the dream, the dream where women are are free, free to explore themselves, be themselves before the vicious white patriarchy cuts them down for sport.

These women are beautiful, these women are fierce. They laugh at the inevitable violence every one of them will face. They laugh because they know that it cannot last.

One by one their beauty is carved up for the masses to consume, thier spark swallowed by the holy violence of their male oppressors. The never ending cycle of youth taken away from the breast of life to be fed to the machine.

These beautiful women of colour where society discards them like trash, sold like slaves to white families with picket fences that hide atrocities that no woman should face.

Soulless, loveless the machine knows what it wants, it wants our young beautiful women, our future.

The ones who survive are the ones who beat the machine, they become the teachers for the ones taken away to live the dream.
This was inspired by Tina Fontaine, a 15 year old Indigenous girl who ***** and murdered and her killer got off.
Mar 2018 · 972
The Old Man
Irkar Beljaars Mar 2018
The old man sits and waits, staring at an empty canvas. A canvas that awaits his thoughts, his fears, his pain and his love.

The old man drifts from thought to thought. At first he sees his cold mother and distant father, he sees the train station being leveled by the bombs of a madman.

He sees himself running through the fields where bodies have fallen. The ground wet by the tears of those who survived. He sees himself taken away by those in black with white collars, he remembers the sting of their violations.

He tries to escape but the scars remain, spreading through his body like a plague, it denies him speech and it fills him with hate. When the madman's bombs cease to fall he is allowed to leave but part of him remains in that building of shame.

He is not the same when he sees family again, for the scars remain as well as the shame. The old man stares at the empty canvas, remembering everything stolen from him, his love, his beauty, his voice.

He falls down.

Until love reaches out and extends her hand to him, she helps him find his voice, his beauty and his love. She helps to stand and for a time the canvas is filled with love and beauty. But the scars remain.

Love is not strong enough, she soon becomes overwhelmed. His pain, his shame forces her to flee. He is alone once again, his canvas is empty again.

His voice starts to die, he starts to cry. He falls. He cannot heal for he knows not how, years go by and his canvas remains dry. The scars remain. Until one day...

There is a knock at the door, it is the old mans son with scars of his own. The son tells his father that he forgives him, that he may have scars but they do not define him.

The father begins to cry, for no one had ever told him that forgiveness was allowed. The shame had taught him that. The son tells him that he can heal once he begins to forgive himself.

How says the old man

Speak! Says his son, speak until the scars have no power. He begins to speak, and colors begin to appear on the canvas, soon fields of green meadows and blue sky’s explode across the canvas.

All the while the man is speaking, he talks about the mad man and his bombs. The men in black with white collars and the soldiers weeping for their lost friends. About the love that tried to rescue him.

Soon the canvas fills the room with images of beauty and color, the beauty that was trapped in his soul, the beauty that is now free.

Old man begins to cry and his son asks why? These are not tears of pain says the father but of disappointment. I’m an old man he says, I’ve been a prisoner for so long. But today you are not says the son, today you are free.

The father smiles, what is it asks his son. I need another canvas for tomorrow he says for there is more to say.
Inspired by my father.

— The End —