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Justice should be healing | 🇭🇹 | twitter & ig: @natamazan
Photo by Shirien at shirien.creates

Question everything Struggle in the present for the world we wish to live in accept tragedy as inevitable like the laughter of healing pain unavoidable truth is coming at roots lifting liberation from twisted tongues forcing mother out for colonizers’ boots to drag into our homes, us out onto ships of wet bones, cold trails, graveyards, one in the same they were not invited but we are a hospitable people who embody the teachings of Jesus better than any church on stolen land could ever even begin to think of what it could mean to love a neighbor without exception…

Street in Brooklyn, NY. Summer 2019. My photo.

My grandmother is in a casket.
we can’t stop lashing out,
I’m sad n shit.



— how you really feel?”


for a second



You are comfortable in discomfort


I exist

Your hairs

the ones not tied back fly forward

hands extend for the body you thought you had lost

how transient being is.

And when my body dies, it may become a number of things like

I don’t want — I can’t write a love poem. if I can find comfort closest to colonial convention then maybe my soul could be saved from…

Walt Whitman’s Birthplace: Long Island, New York

I am not only a moment, I am all the moments that were, that are, and will be, I transcend these three to somewhere… something of a beautiful and spiritual dimension we all know. The way the bitternut hickory greens as it sings in the beginning of the March season, brings me its peace; and as the ocean rises and falls, my soul moves along with her, because we have known each other before I was born. Each ascending sunrise followed by the descending sunset, with distinct coalesced shades; The insects that bring life to these plants, These plants that…

Feet like large stones are trampling over us creating waves of dusts now contrasting the off-blue, gray tinted sky. The sky flashing in and out of sight, I am dying, my heart shattered by bullets going too far too quickly, I could not protect her. She is under me, my tears falling like hail creating puddles over her deep burgundy wounds. We were only supposed to get water from the lake, we were not supposed to stay out longer than our thirst was satisfied with cool moisture. But, she wanted to play and I could not reject her large, round…

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