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My Navajo Hogan
In this twisted narrative of a world, stripped of meaningful battles and elusive enemies, I, a Navajo transsexual woman, yearn for the freedom to craft my own damn story. The U.S., playing puppeteer in this grand circus, conjures up colossal messes and labels them adversaries. Wake Up, the Earth isn't gently fading away; it's us, humanity, teetering on the edge of a damn abyss.
Why, you wonder? Because those supposed "men" in power refuse to grow the hell up, and their toys? Oh, they're a colossal disaster waiting to implode. It's a chaotic playground where I, in the throes of my own battle against cishetero patriarchy, strive for a haven—a Hogan on the sacred reservation.
Amidst the shadows of economic struggles and whispers of ancestral resilience, the clash with the powers that be becomes my symphony of rebellion. The Hogan, not an inferno, but a sacred space where divorce isn't just an end, but a reclaiming of traditions. Love and anger entwine, casting eerie shadows against the majestic backdrop of Chuska—a silent witness to the storms within.
In the dance of love and anger, frustration metamorphoses into a haunting declaration. If ever I find myself sprawled on the floor, with his towering presence above me, the power to reclaim my space—the Hogan—is my damn birthright. No punches will define my story; his things will find themselves outside my door. It's a scream for freedom, a yearning to live authentically on the sacred grounds of my heritage. Here's to the struggle, the fight for a haven, and the yearning for a sacred space that's truly mine.
© ladymychal
Why, you wonder? Because those supposed "men" in power refuse to grow the hell up, and their toys? Oh, they're a colossal disaster waiting to implode. It's a chaotic playground where I, in the throes of my own battle against cishetero patriarchy, strive for a haven—a Hogan on the sacred reservation.
Amidst the shadows of economic struggles and whispers of ancestral resilience, the clash with the powers that be becomes my symphony of rebellion. The Hogan, not an inferno, but a sacred space where divorce isn't just an end, but a reclaiming of traditions. Love and anger entwine, casting eerie shadows against the majestic backdrop of Chuska—a silent witness to the storms within.
In the dance of love and anger, frustration metamorphoses into a haunting declaration. If ever I find myself sprawled on the floor, with his towering presence above me, the power to reclaim my space—the Hogan—is my damn birthright. No punches will define my story; his things will find themselves outside my door. It's a scream for freedom, a yearning to live authentically on the sacred grounds of my heritage. Here's to the struggle, the fight for a haven, and the yearning for a sacred space that's truly mine.
© ladymychal
