Mourning
“I know how the coyote in the story feels,” I say with my voice cracking under the truth of it.
“I know how the coyote in the story feels,” I say with my voice cracking under the truth of it.
I wrote and memorized a poem for one of my classes. The poem is supposed to, well,…. you read it
I said that I would write about my own decolonization process too, but my humour minimizes and sh*t gets real.