[kihnindewa]

♡ I’m Kihnindewa, which means to hunger in my tribe’s language. I’m a generally pronounless Two-Spirit Afro-Native writer based in the backwoods of the southeast! Always looking to support other writers of color ❣️

♡ I write my experiences with race, neurodiversity™️, gayness & transgenderism & all the romance attached. Primarily poetry & prose, but I’m branching out into articles, collages, & upcoming video content as well. All of my poetry is available on Patreon for $5, and your support is everything ❣️

♡ My Writing ♡ My Patreon ♡ Medium ♡

[kihnindewa]

Hey it’s @kihningcries I guess they killed me. This is gonna stay a writing only blog idk I’ll remake later, I just want to say that while I don’t really mind I’m still really confused ! Not saying it has anything to do with it but I reported antiblack hate speech recently and explained very nicely in the report that I didn’t feel it was fair or healthy for black ppl to have to provide detailed explanations of violent hate speech & asked them to reconsider the hate speech reporting process bc it’s hard on ppl to have to do that. Never heard back or even got the email letting me know they received it, and now my blog is gone. Teehee

[kihnindewa]

When we meet OJ & Emerald Haywood, they’re the last standing among hunted peoples...protectors of the last of the land, the traditions, the blood. To build the necessary world & spark the beginning, to be erased from it... This is an Indigenous ache, to not be able to go home & to have no choice but to try.

I don’t want to talk about the monster, about the unrecognizable or the unfamiliar. There is a danger sitting across you & I in our most fearful moments...the intimate strangers who know best our vulnerabilities, those for whom we set the table. I want to talk about the man who feeds the monster. ...as his imperviousness to the same evils he let upon us finally becomes true delusion, as we agree that this violence will not save even one of us, I am glad that Jupe died.

Kihnindewa. Excerpts from I'm Glad Jupe Died: An Afro-Indigenous Reflection On NOPE (2022)

I have a lot of thoughts about the parallels between the Haywoods' story & real world afro-indigenous experiences, and how Jupe parallels real world dynamics between non-Black people of color & Black people (& anti-Blackness as an alleged means of survival). Especially the latter. So I wrote something about it!

I also have a public article on this (to expand on these thoughts & discuss even more, like Black hypversibility) in the works, but for now you can access the full piece & so much more here.

[deadgirlsupremacy]

for @nosebleedclub February prompt #4 - corrupted

[geryone]

ALT

Judas Goat, Gabrielle Bates

[kihnindewa]

I finally wrote a response to the deeply repetitive arguments, criticisms, concerns I’ve received all my life when speaking on Black & Native intercommunity issues as a Black Native! But particularly, to the comments section of an article I wrote last year to critique the use of “BIPOC” as defined by a shared experience with colonialism or oppression, and the simple fact that a people cannot share an oppressive experience with another who live half-lives under the former’s governing & gatekeeping.

I wrote on the history of the only consistent clapback™️ my cries for allyship have ever received (the Buffalo Soldiers referenced in the above screenshot), what makes them nonfunctional as a weapon or deflection in this conversation, and the dissociative-like experience of people’s refusal to engage with Afro-Native oppression as a Native American issue because we happen to be Black as well. Here are some excerpts/quotes:

People find it incredibly difficult to understand that I am Black & Native American at the same time, never ceasing in one or the other…the obscene success of an ethnically & culturally blended peoples, “a savage foe combined with lawless Negro brigands”…

Conversation about Black Native Americans isn’t hard because it is inherently complex. It’s made hard by a deliberate erasure of our Nativeness. By the terms of a bizarrely narrow idea of racial identity that’s seemingly cobbled together from the legacy of a one-drop rule & Dawes rolls, we can only be Native or Black. Never both.

There is, perhaps, a moral dilemma for some in acknowledging the capacity for Native American wrongdoing while living in a society built atop our bones & stolen land. Though the Buffalo Soldiers don’t even begin to answer to Afro-Natives’ criticisms, it makes for a satisfying deflection.

Kihnindewa. Buffalo Soldiers & Identity Troubles: Native American History Rewritten (Again), working title because I just can’t settle

For now, this piece is exclusive to my $5.55 Patreon! If you’re looking to learn some Black (& Native) history directly from a Black Native this BHM or to connect & commiserate with another Black NDN (see my tags please 🙂), the support would be deeply appreciated and subscribing also gives you access to all of my poetry & other work. You could also consider tipping me if you’ve benefited from my previous article or other work on this subject, for my pain & suffering if you’re white or nonblack Native, or just to help me out this month.

If I hit a $200 goal (patronage included), I will post this to Medium early! Otherwise, it’ll be free to read & learn from at the end of the month. Funds will go towards bills, dental care, and/or a new tire. I am heartemojie on cashapp + venmo & 13thead on paypal. Pilahuk (thank you)!!

[kihnindewa]

I've officially been published for the first time :D

I'm on page 28 of the 5th issue of Marías at Sampaguitas, a magazine that highlights the non-white & the gender non-conforming in art. It's free & the editor's opening letter alone will seize you by the throat so...here's the link <3

[kihnindewa]

When we meet OJ & Emerald Haywood, they’re the last standing among hunted peoples...protectors of the last of the land, the traditions, the blood. To build the necessary world & spark the beginning, to be erased from it... This is an Indigenous ache, to not be able to go home & to have no choice but to try.

I don’t want to talk about the monster, about the unrecognizable or the unfamiliar. There is a danger sitting across you & I in our most fearful moments...the intimate strangers who know best our vulnerabilities, those for whom we set the table. I want to talk about the man who feeds the monster. ...as his imperviousness to the same evils he let upon us finally becomes true delusion, as we agree that this violence will not save even one of us, I am glad that Jupe died.

Kihnindewa. Excerpts from I'm Glad Jupe Died: An Afro-Indigenous Reflection On NOPE (2022)

I have a lot of thoughts about the parallels between the Haywoods' story & real world afro-indigenous experiences, and how Jupe parallels real world dynamics between non-Black people of color & Black people (& anti-Blackness as an alleged means of survival). Especially the latter. So I wrote something about it!

I also have a public article on this (to expand on these thoughts & discuss even more, like Black hypversibility) in the works, but for now you can access the full piece & so much more here.

[quotespile]

“Your childhood hunger is the one that never leaves you.”

— Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, The Palace of Illusions

[calliopen]

one for sorrow, two for joy | k.s.

[kihnindewa]

Dozens of intimate strangers Joined at the gaps of identical wounds inherited from our father's father, still-bleeding, We thank you Lord for this day, for this abundant blood

Something is wrong with your heart The smell of burning hair. I want to ask Who will save me? Who...will suck out the poison? Silence can be ritual. “Something is wrong with this child.”

I lean into a hug, smiling into your neck and thinking

Of all evils in this world, Would I let your love kill me?

Kihnindewa. DON'T MAKE ME BITE THE HAND.

A summary of something about growing up in a community & family deeply poisoned by & dependent on anti-Blackness, about the overlaps in self-destruction & self-preservation or alienation & belonging, set to the backdrop of an unsettling family reunion. Full piece & so much more here, art by Erwin Binder.

[kihnindewa]

2010. I’m watching you, from my spot at the foot of your bed. I’m only 11. I don’t know the name for it, but I know the taste of copper, how to swallow poison without succumbing, how to occupy the mind through hours & hours of perfect stillness, and every board in this floor that creaks. And I’ve been watching you for years.

“You’ve imagined love out of thin air, reached into the sound of this reverberating ache and tried to pull out something holy, to turn tears to gospel. Listen: the beast does not cry. She doesn’t know what it means when you pray to her. We can leave this place together!"

“The intersection of a yelp and a heavy hand is no crossroads. We are not bartering.” And I am not waiting for you to meet me halfway, for you to remember that I am your little sister... I am your little sister and you love me... I am not waiting for mercy.

Kihnindewa. If you'd told me to jump

Excerpts from something I wrote on my experiences with abuse among siblings, something that also happens to be (subtly) about Dissociative Identity Disorder & finding what you needed in unexpected places. I'm nervous to share this because I worried more about saying something I needed to say a long time ago than making it pretty and, really, I'm only sharing at all to show solidarity with people who's stories don't get told or taken seriously because of the nature of our abuse. Full piece & so much more here, photo by Suné Woods.

[kihnindewa]

The sweet sound of gospel A cradlefull of worshippers shouting like maenads, like little morning birds, “You hold my hand! You hold my hand!” They’re in love. What if I could be some kind of angel?

Kihnindewa. the myth-maker's daughter

An excerpt from the companion to venus, destroyed by global warming. Something I wrote on processing unrequited parental love, questioning how things could possibly turn out that way & the repercussions of that. Full piece & so much more here, art by Hsieh Tong-Iiang.

[kihnindewa]

"You bow your head when the choir begins. You never asked for this, I know. These early mornings are thankless work, I know. And me dancing in time, confetti bursting from my chest and bursting to flame And me reaching with your father’s fingers, reaching with your flesh & blood, Reaching for my martyr’s glory, Reaching for you. Either way, I’ll be so lonely."

Kihnindewa. venus, destroyed by global warming (a prelude)

An excerpt from something about a troubled mother-daughter relationship, about sacrifice or abandonment or something like that. Full piece & so much more here, featured image by James Nova.

[loveisthemostimportantthingever]

@holybeings tee 🤲

[najaaozixxjsiaaiaiia]

If you only knew how good it feels to feel with my body💛

[forestgreenlesbian]

knitted banners by freddie robins