You have amnesia, don’t you?
Or did you force yourself to forget?
How these hips you reject were lands to conquest
As your founding fathers, repulsed, were attracted to their curves
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Now more than ever, I feel it’s my responsibility as a descendant of Indigneous people of southern California to tap into the traditions and creative processes my ancestors did hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago.
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Earlier in our Oatley Park walk, she recounted her 4-year-old son squealing, ‘What’s that smell?’ as they walked along Campsie Fruit World: again with the Asian jibes, she explained the shop’s condition: ‘It’s because Asians in the western suburbs put up with it. This wouldn’t slide with Anglos in the eastern suburbs where I used to live.’
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When you’re in the pit, and the breakdown slams you into a snarling wall of white teeth and fists,
or when you’re at a party, and racial slurs crack louder than beer bottles, I am with you.
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I stare at the miniscule rivers etched along my upper side-thigh. They stream down South, East,
and West.
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ode to the republic, what the conch said to the black child, Madeleine, la femme noir
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i belong to myself but my skin belongs to my mother/ she looks at me, 18 years old, but all she sees is her reflection
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Trigger warning for r*pe, ass*ult.
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what does it mean to heal/ when the process can't even start/ until you've been beaten down/ bruised and battered for the world to see
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may you find time/ to stand on the earth barefooted…
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I rested my ear on your thigh/ as you gripped strands of hair/ trying to make me as beautiful as I thought you were
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Oak tree people saw all of it. The heart-aching suffering of the branch. The hopeless cries of the branch.
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My relationship to self is/ industrial strength adhesive/ made from/ hard-earned softness.
Read More![What I Require [Empathy] by Miejo Dambita](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/5d92e5fa0f65676b38bde75b/1608761458344-L409FGI3ZVEHBY4PBLBI/IMG_2143+2.jpg)
prepare a room for my weariness in your home
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I picture myself in a sea of water releasing generations/ worth of trauma swimming in my body
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As I walk down a path that/ Was not paved for me,/ There is love in my step and a storm in my eyes.
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Surely, this must be my home.
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