The Dreamstep Kid

There are days that go by where I don't feel emotions anymore. This crazy place called Yale has drained me and drenched me and demanded a future that I am not sure I can reach. So I keep on writing and crying out in hopes that someone will hear a small portion of my song and write me a love note. I am a native american, an ivy league champion, a broken songbook with slide hymns transposed onto saxiphone napkins.

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moarrrmagazine:

Amazing bead art by Jan Huling

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owning-my-truth:

2,129 athletics teams in the US have racist names and mascots which demean Native Americans.

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elviralo:

"Shadow Of Car Driving Through Desert Arizona 1971 Ikko…"

fieldofcarrotflowers:

1491s- Slapping Medicine Man

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Photograph by Ryan McGinley for Edun Spring 2012 Ad Campaign

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Porn blogs that post during the day are my worst enemy

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As we dance I notice a scar on her cheek.  It extends from the wings of her eyes to the jaw tip.  I ask, “Who did you fight to win that?”. 

She immediately turns and runs. 

Not wanting to look predatory I continue dancing.  Too curious to feel ashamed.

I see her later on, she is talking to a man.  He is drunk, loud, and smoothly transitions into yelling.  I don’t feel like I have a right to protect her, but I want to know.  I walk over and and try to calm him down. We begin shoving and I run after him. He falls and I instinctively begin kicking.

When I lift up my boot it is her.  She is bleeding badly.  A deep cut runs from the feathers of her eye wings to the tip of her jaw.  

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