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Writing: issue 8

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Mikaela C. Aka

7/14/2018

1 Comment

 
Mikaela is a disabled queer bitch, born and raised in Brooklyn, NYC. She is inspired by her work with children, plant medicine, and changing the narrative of trauma. Mikaela refuses to die, solely because she knows capitalism wants her to. She is dedicated to making sliding scale herbal remedies in Oakland, CA.

Instagram: @DESTR0YH1M + 
@babygirlbotanicals

Picture
I have been to hell without leaving my bed
Physical, uncontrollable pain comes to me, the most consistent visitor.
I have never been a pacifist because I have fought my entire life.
I bloom, I die, and I do it all over again.
Chronic is forever, illness isn’t temporary.
This disease is slowly spreading itself across each joint.
My tissues are held together by mere strings.
I think about epigenetics.
Trauma has wrapped itself around our DNA
I think about the women in my family who dragged themselves across oceans, only to find that they are still in war time.
I am holding generations of history within my joints.
The space where collagen should be,
is filled with uncertainty, the ghosts of incest.
Frida Kahlo had a mirror installed above her bed, so she could paint self portraits.
I don’t think I need a mirror, I know what this looks like. I look like my mom.
I bloom, I die, and I do it all over again.
What keeps me alive?
I have a plant hanging above my bed.
I have watched her grow as I lay staring at the ceiling,
wondering when I will morph into my mattress.
I am the teacher I wish I had. I am the mom I wish I had. I am the father that I deserved. I cannot have a full term pregnancy, but I will have a child one day.
I will let them know they are everything.
I will sing quietly in their ear, tell them how important they are.
I am emotionally and physically closer to death than ever.
But telling the truth makes me feel alive.
I bloom, I die, and I do it all over again. 

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Allison Tovey

7/14/2018

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​Instagram: @suzybish0p 

allisonmtovey.wixsite.com/allison

Women in The Wallpaper


The yellow clogs my lungs and files down my nails.
The woman in the room, locked in the room,
stares all day through the pattern, through me.
She senses me, sees me, fears me,
hopes I will vanish in the daylight,
she does not know we are the other’s freedom.


The woman and I creep together, twins so mirrored
it is hard to tell who is the fracture of whom.
I try to hold her hand as we choke for air,
bound with gags of different cloth
that shut us up just the same.
She never reaches back, and the paper gets tighter,


crowded as our numbers begin to grow,
manifested in her solitude.
We twist and twitch, shake so violently the paper has a pulse,
like its alive the way we’re alive,
the way she will come alive when she rips us free,
her body making space to hold us all inside her.


A coven of hidden women clawing for liberation,
to claim a sister silenced.
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Demi Marshall

7/14/2018

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"My name is Demi Marshall, and I am a 21 year old college student from Northwest, IN. I experiment with a variety of writing styles (usually never showing them to anyone), but mostly what I do are music reviews. My writing has been featured in Unclear Magazine, Strife Magazine, my college newspaper, and my personal blog, InAlternative. I hope to continue writing and pursue a career in something related to music journalism."

Twitter: @DemiRain97
​
Instagram: demetrarain 



The day we moved in, you dropped your mirror on the sidewalk and it shattered.
I should have taken this as a sign.
What started out as best friends living together
Quickly turned into canceled plans, confrontation, and locked doors,
Finally ending in silence.

You were everything I ever wanted in a friend.

By Valentine's Day you were gone.
I got home and your side of the room was barren and empty.
Those white brick walls echoed the countless arguments they had witnessed in only a matter of months.
I threw my clothes into your closet, desperately trying to fill the void you left in me.
I fought to repress the anger and sadness rising in my chest, never letting myself truly mourn your absence.

You were so good at making me feel small.

Now I've learned to live with the fact that you're gone.
I've accepted that you chose him over me,
The person who loved you the most, and was always there for you.
In the end, I hope you got what you wanted.
But you really broke me.
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morgan parent

7/14/2018

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"I'm Morgan. I'm a strategic communication student aspiring to end up somewhere in the music industry on the marketing side of things. I like to think I'm pretty well balanced, but who couldn't use more art in their life? For some reason a lot of people think they know me (​doppelgangers, where ya at?) so...  if I already have a familiar face, I might as well earn a familiar name to go with it.
Treat yourself kindly and check in on your friends!"


​
Twitter: @morganRparent

Instagram: @morgan_parent

Tattooing
I love tattoos
You always hear about them being addictive and it's true
But I'd rather be addicted to tattoos than to you
Or anything, really
But then you always hear that they hurt
And I get asked if mine hurt
And people always comment on how high my pain tolerance is
And I laugh and say oh yeah it's been like that forever
But really you learn to deal with it when you have scars

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ZMKF

7/14/2018

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"​I am ZMKF and I'm 17 years old. I am agender and proudly feminine, she/her they/them. I write essays/articles, short stories, and poems. I am also part of the www.operationoceanfixer.org team. I care a lot about the environment and the application of science and technology. I am an absolute pacifist, and I believe kindness is a superpower."

Instagram: @zmkfgram

zmkf.me

She belongs to the wind and rain,
Yet comes out of the dark like a whirling sandstorm,
She is felt most easy in the desert,
She herself feels hard,
Her skin is like the softest and most brown of leathers,
Her tongue bites more than her teeth,
Her hair coils around me like snakes,
Grasping popsicles, we head off,
To the sand,
She’s not done with me yet.
She’s my protector and my light and my stamp collection.
Treat yourself.
I want to date someone like her,
For she is Summer.

I am Young, She is Young,
The Night Is Young.

“Bitch” on her tongue drips like honey,
One eye is fire, the other is ice,
One arm is a mountain, the other a river,
She is not balanced well,
She can be an inferno,
And quite the asshole,
She can fear the inferno,
And yet,
I want to date someone like her,
For she is Summer.

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Ruby Elizabeth

7/14/2018

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"I’ve been writing ever since I was 12. I’ve used different mediums to express my thoughts but this has been the most developed. Writing is my outlet, it’s where my ideas, feelings, and ambitions are stored and without it I wouldn’t truly be myself."

Instagram: @writingismyfood

the world may not understand
they let go of anyone that does not seem sane
they make fun of anyone that is different
they feel the need to always voice their opinions
when maybe it is more harmful than helpful
when somebody doesn't understand it 
they try changing it 
fixing it they say
when in reality it may be just a different opinion
a different way of living
the pain, the grief and the suffering
may help someone in their life
the unknown and the scary may feel the same way towards you
but they are trying 
reaching out only to be told that what they think is wrong 
and that they need 'fixing'
children grow up with all of these thoughts of how the world is innocent and naive
these thoughts are shattered by the reality that the adults have created
adolescents going against the world the adults have created
are told to shut up
and that their opinion doesn't matter
when it's this world that they have to live in
realizing there is beauty in imperfections
the broken things are the most interesting
to love whoever we want
breaking these stereotypes the adults have created
fighting for our freedoms 
our basic rights
we will yell and fight and get out voices heard
nobody is perfect
but the imperfections are the most perfect
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Sam El Arrasi

7/14/2018

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"I am 20 years old, currently living in Germany, but planning to move with my friends to Barcelona, Spain to attend an art university this September. I love every form of art and I do pretty much everything (writing, photography, drawing, painting, music...) just as a hobby and out of passion.
Writing has always been a way for me to understand what goes through my head. I've been keeping journals since I was 12 and I've been trying to figure myself out in them since then. My writing is something really personal to me and I am trying my hardest to open up more and to be able to share it because every time I did it in the past, people have always related. That is the whole point of it, I want people to relate to my confusion and to maybe even help them understand theirs a little better."


Instagram: @sam.wxxlf


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to make peace with your demons you're required to aknowledge them you can't kiss off something you never welcomed properly
you can't blow the horn without holding it steadily
you cant drive a car without an ignition to put the key in

you cant bleed out your worries by having immaculate skin
you cant burn off what makes you fade without lighting the match

so go off kid,
light everything on fire until you have to run away
burn all the bridges so nothing can get out and everyone is forced to stay to stay and learn about what your walls are built of
show them the tearing on the wallpaper and the punch holes on the doors show them the beautiful flowers between the cracks of the worn-out floors and the paintings packed in boxes on the basement

and just know that you'll never reach freedom
because you already are free
and the only thing holding you back is the blindfold of lies and the rules that dictate what you should be

so go off kid,
run freely across the universe of your days
step on every mile of dirt and concrete of your city in a daze
and show yourself what you are made of
the crushed meteors on your face, the stars in your eyes
let them shine while you smile up to someone else's gaze
and just be
be and keep being
and stop being only when your heartbeat stops beating
because that will happen sooner or later without a doubt
either dying young or dying old while we shout
the point is to cash in on everything with nothing to feel remorseful about

...
you took a look into my world of words
into my thoughts turned into sentences turned into scribbles you turned the pages with care, trying not to break me
i only guided you to dead ends, superfluous poetry
empty words, cliché assumptions
because i never learned how to open up
i dont know how to open up
i'd rather talk to myself about my problems
than sharing them with someone else
i'd rather write them down, read and re-read them,
cover them up with art, rip off the pages
than letting someone else explain them to me

there is always going to be a wall between me and the world and i feel like you and i are the same in that aspect
that is what fucks me up
that i feel like i am looking at my own reflection

evertime you look me in the eyes
and I am sick of missing out on you and everything else every second of my days I wish I could be the actress instead of the watcher
that I could just talk, act, laugh, scream, live and dream, like everyone else

observing gives me the freedom of not having to put myself out there just taking everything in, without letting anything out
because truth is I have nothing to give
I hope no one ever finds out 


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