Herown

It's a cry that echos through the years
The pain etched on each generation
I've been told it's history, that I am
A hundred and fifty years too late
To try and feel some type of way
But the hole in my heart wont seal up
It hurts to know that I've lost so much of
My family
My culture
My language
All because someone wanted gold
All because they needed land
And plots to call their own
Now they tell me its okay
For a school to have the mascot
Dress up in the same clothes as my Teton ancestors
They show the games on the tv
There are crowds of headresses
And dozens of faces cover in paint
Their "war cries" echo through the stadium
Where they pass a ball from one end to the other
And during half time you can watch the redman
Run and hop and holler
Impersonating a warrior in his prime
Its sad that these people see no wrong in these acts
"Its a tradition!" they claim
"Something thats been done for ages"
Cue the bitter laughter
Its a point thats proven true
Just grab an American history book
And flip to the beginning
There will be hundreds of tales
About the fight against these brown native men
And even after the war was won
They continue to earse the brown from his skin
They locked the people on strips of land
And took the children to boarding schools
Where they where told
How to dress
How to speak
And even how to live
They took their names
They took their homes
They even took their words
And all the while the Caucasian man was chanting
"Kill the indian, save the man"

But once you realize
That the hole you
Have been sitting in
Is nothing but a circle
You drew around yourself
With a chalk crayon
Made of your own insecurities
And all you need to do
Is swipe your hand across
That line, you will finally
Understand it never mattered
What the world will see
But all in what you think
You need to be
And the simple truth was
That you had the power
All along to set yourself free

Sylvia Plath once wrote of a friend, 'She is something vital.'
I write today to inform you of the same about yourself. You
possess life-giving properties no less powerful than those of
the sun. Your very birth was the result of a benevolent,
ancient conspiracy of the universe. You are the enduring
debris of expired stars, the body that you dwell in houses a
portion of the energy the celestial ancestors gave to the
universe as light and life. This is your inheritance: a corporal
homestead in deep space from which you can (and must)
embrace and endure the signs of life.


Alana Massey

Step away from the screen. Don’t compare yourself to them
— it isn’t fair to measure how you feel against what others
choose to show you about their lives. Your work has value. Your
ideas only seem obvious to you. Creativity IS perspective—how
you see the world is unique to you. No, it won’t connect with
everyone, but it will resonate with someone if you allow it to.
What if, instead of believing you aren’t enough, you just decided
you were? Maybe you could be great. Maybe you already are
(you probably are). The world is full enough of people who will
try to shrink you. Why be one of them? You can be your own
worst critic…or your biggest ally. Think about it. Feel that
flicker of light? That's possibility. Maybe you are great.
Yeah, you are. Hold that thought. Store it somewhere
you can return to. Visit often.



Dunja Kovacevic

Breath in.


Breath out.


Repeat.


Breathing in
-you are full, this will not last forever.


Breathing out
-you are empty, this will not last forever