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Bad Medicine

There was a time I needed to feel safe. So, I would just be the Italian, Eurasion or Greek. It was better to be whatever I wasn’t because anything was better than pain. I didn’t have my grandmother’s arms to … Continue reading

Posted in Aboriginal Peoples, Alcoholism, First Nations, Indigenous, Indigenous Peoples, Life, Metis, Native Americans, Pain, Poetry | Tagged , , , | 35 Comments