sheepfilms
roma★
izzy's playlists!
Love Begins
No title available
Keni
will byers stan first human second
JVL
we're not kids anymore.
tannertan36
noise dept.
One Nice Bug Per Day
Claire Keane
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Kaledo Art
d e v o n
Cosimo Galluzzi
Game of Thrones Daily
oozey mess
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Indonesia
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from Pakistan
seen from Germany
seen from Austria
seen from Hungary
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
@indigenousanonymous-blog
skirts
intertwined threads
that empower men
to dictate
how "woman" we are
unfathomable that a specimen of fabric should restrict us from our ceremonies that enable others the entitlement to scold us to berate us
nevermind the struggles we face trying to step foot in a place we hoped we'd be welcomed
the worker
worker walks up to another rez shack
to fill her apprehension quota
a baby cries inside
mother comes to the door
years of caring for others caught up to her
worker came for someone else
however
takes one look at the children
fed
unwashed
one soiled diaper
the living room is messy
mother tries to reason with the worker
no help
a cyst on her spine
doctor’s orders
the woman who has relentlessly tried to separate this family
conveniently there to take the older three
calls herself family
has assaulted her niece multiple times
children are ushered into the caravan
mother looks on
anonymity is never truly anonymous
the difference the initial contact could have made
asking
acknowledging the mother’s daily struggle
let the boys play
clean the mess long into the early hours of the morning
sleep
wake up to more mess
deepest fears realized
fears of losing children
no child care
lack of training
lack of validation
cannot trust
overnight “relief”
turns into two
continues onto three
now four
This poem was written in under one hour as required by one of my classes. This is 100% true and an issue that is ongoing. I type this as I have been awake for almost 24 hours, traveling to be with my family. So much isn’t adding up. When I called the worker, she stated that she apprehended by siblings because of the reasons stated above - the house was “messy”, and my siblings were “messy”. The original “anonymous” call wasn’t even about my mom, it was about my sister who was not there. While my mom was under instruction from a doctor to not do any strenuous.
The worker came by yesterday and changed the conditions of which my mom had to comply with to bring my brothers home, and has been asking her questions such as if she is depressed, inquiring about my brothers’ developmental milestones, etc., anything that would require children’s aid to open a case file.
My mom has seven boys - a 13-year old (my cousin), and the other boys are under the age of eight. Anyone who has any experience with children will tell you that kids make a mess - especially my brothers. I was home not even two weeks ago and the whole house was scrubbed top to bottom (I know because I scrubbed it). Unfortunately, because the worker showed up late in the evening, my mom hadn’t yet given them their nightly bath, and now they are separated with no contact with each other or us.
This could have such a drastically different outcome, one that did not include retraumatizing kids who have already had to deal with so much, one that did not include separation and isolation of children who have not been separated from their mother for four days and counting (something they have never experienced before). Placements with family should have been established first. Their father should have been contacted first, not 12 hours after the fact. Apprehension should be a last resort unless it is truly required in which this case it was absolutely not.
As someone who is studying social work, who moved 12 hours away from home to do so, the treatment of my family in this situation is appalling. And yes, you can be assured that I am damn well going to do everything in my power to fight this.
my self-care
writing is my sweatlodge
resonances of mourning dove sorrows in the distance
my morning smudge
as i try to gather my muddled thoughts
giving thanks
hearing creation wake from their slumber
i feel obligated to apologize in advance
to whom i may offend
my statements may trigger
please acknowledge
i was heeded no warnings
no apologies
and that has embedded resistance
resilience
my words may be unrefined
but in no way are they intentionally malicious
systems tried to break me
instead transformed me
these are my truths
my realities
constant
sometimes despondent
but regardless
they are mine
and occasionally
i feel like sharing them
traditional
teachings
medicines
people
we must tread lightly
as the people who self-proclaim
are less likely to be
people who share
acknowledge they are constantly learning
state where their teachings originate
and where their parents come from
they consider
ponder
they don’t swiftly shoot down
others’ opinions
without remorse
and they definitely
do not claim that title
and proceed to violate children
or depreciate elders
Thinking of my grandmother, my uncle, great uncles, and cousins today and every day ♡ #indigenousanonymous #poetry #writing #words #remembranceday #firstnations #nativepride #aboriginal #poetsofig #instapoetry #poetrycommunity #lestweforget
twenty one
i am twenty-one and i have no children
it is the norm among others but where i come from it’s abnormal
people joke and ask tease but they don’t realize i had two miscarriages two spirits that decided that it wasn’t yet time the loss still hurts sometimes that slap in the face every month seeing that streak of red ache in my heart when my niece and nephew smile at me
my day will come or it will not until then i will share that love with the rest of the world
home
toys strewn across the lawn
been there for a day or a month
the driveway is unpaved
full of potholes
the shack sighs under its own weight
indecisive
the house smells of mold
clothes unwashed
carpet is sticky
from multiple tiny hands
black socks
because white stains
inhale the defeat and sigh
know that when you hear shrieks of joy
there are several yogurt cups
stuffed under the couch
behind the tv stand
waiting to rot
that the bedroom
has been rearranged
that the floor
needs to be swept
again
hearing "i'm hungry"
every half hour
knowing that you are
on your own
no help to be offered
his empty promises
and beautiful lies
from dawn until dusk
this home is chaos
It's that time of year #indigenousanonymous #indiganon #indigenouspoets #indigenous #mycultureisnotacostume #justdontdoit #instapoetry #poetsofinstagram #words #nativeamerican #aboriginal #indigenize #decolonize
acceptance
my twin flame
is a white man
when i was younger
i always felt obligated
to have dark-skinned
dark-haired
brown-eyed native babies
i don't mind now
if they have pale skin
light hair
or eyes that reflect
the ocean
with hints of grandfather sun setting on the horizon
because i see in him
what i see in me
an incomplete being
tirelessly working
to reconnect with mother earth
and all of creation
that desire to feel whole
truth
it doesn’t matter
if you were traditionally taught
learned through life experience
was taught by this one elder
went to public school
struggled through university
or all of the above
and more
there will always be a select few
that will try to disprove
your knowledge
there is no right or wrong
only yours
know your own truth
and stand up for it
listen
people say
our ceremonies were lost
our language was lost
our culture was lost
this is untrue
if you stop and listen
how the trees
sound like jingles
in the breeze
mother earth is healing
she remembers
she knows
we may have forgotten
how to understand her language
but she hasn’t
not my 150
reconciliation
a one-way street
apologies for historical horrors and holocausts
“it’s time to move on”
except no one wants to right their wrongs
come child
we need to talk
pay no mind to what you see and feel
believe what I tell you
as I had to believe in others
ignore the mothers weeping as their newborn babes are transactioned
to grow up unloved, abused, assaulted, but “educated”
unless you’re educated you’re worth nothing
turn away from the women who learned they would never feel the fullness of motherhood
the families wailing for their little one who didn’t come home from school
the toddlers who wonder why their mother didn’t love them enough to stay and
the millions of graves as a result of one tattered blanket
forget the families now displaced because their grandmother loved a white man
or their grandfather wanted to fight in the war or to get an education
disregard the fact that treaty protocol was not heeded
that Canada was birthed from the blood and bodies of its Indigenous
the lies and the promises and the greed
don’t try to run away child
that black car isn’t here for you
so many recommendations created only to sit at the back of the bookcase to rot
come child it’s time to celebrate
overlook the hateful remarks that are directed towards you and your loved ones
the fear you experience when you hear a van or truck slow down behind you
‘welfare bum’, ‘freeloader’, ‘savage’, ‘injun’, ‘squaw’, or otherwise do not apply to you
there is no need to feel offended because you’re not like the others
forget about your dying family and friends
words don’t break bones
they only take lives
stop wondering why their death was ruled ‘not suspicious’
even though they were found in a ditch, in a forest, in an alleyway
or in a garbage bag at the bottom of a river
disregard your fear that you will be next
plenty of people of other races go missing every day
pay no mind to the fact that you must buy bottled water because your water now runs black
that you cannot brush your teeth or bathe in your own home
don’t complain about your leaking roof or your molding walls
if you really want a better life you can just move
get inspired
get educated
get funded
by the same corporations that are destroying your communities
it has been 150 years
we should be celebrating
be grateful
we shouldn’t even be here
thank the white man for our english
corporate profits
exploitation
ignorance
our indian card
here’s to opportunity
it’s time to pow wow
show others our cute outfits
it’s time to paint pretty pictures that
people can buy and hang in their million-dollar mansions
to feel better about themselves
we are worth nothing if we do not profit
it’s time to get our tables selling authentic shoes and earrings
for others to wear and have others admire
as a keepsake for athletes
that Canada can be proud of
let others admire our mother’s braided hair
and steal her sacredness
hanging on the rearview mirror
under the guise of reconciliation
let's genocide some more
mom
a cell phone can inspire so much pain
the bearer of bad news
cause of anxiety
but it is not the phone
the phone is just a messenger
fingers quivering as blue light illuminates
“something happened”
two words that would change my life forever
that would affect my concentration at school
memories infusing in every cell of my body
guaranteeing to haunt my children and grandchildren for years
inhale
“what?”
exhale
the wait was excruciating
the nine hour distance that once gifted relief
now threatened to make my heart shatter
images
of the woman who birthed me
who wasn't able to raise me
covered in purple and yellow and green
imprinted onto skin
bite marks promising the transition of scars
her eyelids swollen
in defiance
hints of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips
alcohol
growing up
i believed
he had his shit together
what i didn't know
that in reality
it was anything but that
she raised us
in deceit
claiming to put our needs first
excuses for blatantly lying
why we had empty beer cans
stashed in drawers
cases stuck under the stairs
taking care to throw a blanket over
praying we would not notice
as i aged
the pain in his eyes
came into focus
like i was seeing for the first time
i remember the confusion
of knowing the truth
and the feeling of being lied to
and i knew it
as soon as i had enough
she cast us out
leaving just the three of us
me
him
and his addiction
it has such a strong grip
that when i look at him
i don't know if it's really him i'm speaking to sometimes
him
she wants out
but there's nowhere to go
the door's always open
she's the one to close it
back into his arms
after he bruises her face
abuses her body
she holds her child fearfully
who has seen it all
cut hands trembling with trauma
she was abused
emotionally
physically
sexually
made to think she's worth nothing better
he was raised this way
not knowing how to be a man
angry
lost
colonized
not excuses
just the truth
that only she sees
indigenous
what is being indigenous?
is it a laminated card in your wallet
begging to be used?
is it the colour
of your eyes
your hair
or your skin?
is it the quantum
of your blood?
is it ceremony
dictated by lateral violence
or where
your footsteps
lead you
and where
your soul
sings?