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a pillage
and loot
this Saturday
night was
very cute
as me
foreboding but
outside the
coffeeshop with
a map
that haunt
madam dacha
with pouch
in debt
this resolute
capture was
Russian probe
a fallacy here
Kore 5d
it's easy
forgetting
You.
     the hatred
of Me.

until I cease
          to blend
in

and what has
        been lying
in wait
           emerges
marianne Nov 8
to take pieces of land, like pie
purchased and stolen, like monopoly
and make it into something else,
like Europe

this was our promise

so like good soldiers
we planted our rows
cottonwood manioc peas and beans
painted flowers on walls
and floors, like our mothers
built porches for rocking chairs
to gather the children
and tell them all about it,
like refugees

the roots are deep now
but the ancient fear deeper
we glance over our shoulders, still
suspicious of our luck
awaiting the act of *** that
will surely come,
like karma
Because we are made up of our ancestors. But can remake ourselves too.
Kore Nov 6
if i hear
one more
white-pink
no-chin
speak the word

                          I n d i a n

I will
scalp
                         Them
"I'm only saying it because that's what the text says" my ***
AD Mullin Aug 24
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|                           my                           |
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|                  LANGUAGE                  |
|                           my                           |
|                            by                            |
|                 INFLUENCED                 |
|                              is                             |
|                            feel                            |
|                              or                              |
|                              do                              |
|                              or                              |
|                            want                            |
|                              or                              |
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|                                i                                |
|                             that                             |
/                     EVERYTHING                     \
/                                   if                                   \

                  
^                                   ^                                ^
^                                   ^                                ^
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| language instructs | the way we think |
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have, have knot . .. ... .. . untie
dnuobnunbound
TED Says: https://bit.ly/2LW2vPX
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.
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.
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.
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