Easy doesit!
A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR IN CHIEF
I WASN’T PREPARED FOR HOW HARD MY TWENTIES WERE GOING TO BE. I HOPE THAT THIS ZINE MAKES YOU FEEL LESS ALONE IN THIS EXISTENTIAL PERIOD OF YOUR LIFE. I KNOW IT HAS FOR ME. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE EXTREMELY TALENTED CREATIVES WHO SUBMITTED PIECES- I AM TRULY GRATEFUL FOR YOUR IDEAS AND WORDS.
SelfPortrait,AudreyNguyen-page4
RockConversations,AudreyNguyen-page6
LoveLettertoaHotQueerBitch,AshleyMezzano-page8
TapedTogether,YanishaLuckhea-page10
BeatlesNostaglia,YasminGoshen-page11
Post-gradApocalypse,MattiBlake-page12
TwentyThree,YashaswiniSharma-page14
MyHairisGoingGray,FijaDahlia-page16
TheOngoingCarRide,AhmadMorid-page18
it’s hard for me to start a poem with “I” because the next best thing i can follow myself up with is a blank page and some paper cuts doused in hand sanitizer.
do you think snakes hurt when they shed their skin? like i know humans shed their skin everyday too but we can’t feel differences or see changes when it happens. it’s like we do it so much we are numb to it now. new clothes don’t excite me anymore. the mirror bores me. i hate finding hair everywhere in my room daily but can’t tell when a strand is uprooted from my scalp. would it be better to have some kind of indication like how new skin itch on a healing scar? or would that be annoying like armpit hair the day after shaving?
butterflies’ transformation is probably the most distinct. i wonder what they do with the cocoon after. does it just hang on the branch like the pierce the veil t-shirt from the 2016 concert i never got to go to? can i spin it into silk slip dresses that make my arms look big? can i tear it apart and make a y2k miniskirt that shows the organs in my lower belly? i envy everyone who is everything i’m not. i want to be everyone who is everything i can’t be.
i want to cut my hair and be grunge and fairy core and get a tattoo and erase the tattoo and be a soft girl and wear big bows and sip overpriced co ee and be dark academia no light academia and get my shit together and not break down once a week and be chaotic core but with an organized mess on the floor and be a baddie and girl crush and get a tattoo and be a sexually liberated prude and pursue science artistically and do art scientifically and not drool over the “that girl” headphones and have the time to journal in the morning and be outgoing and quiet and be chill but revered. do you know tarantulas eat their old molt the same way i eat my own heart except they don’t throw it up? skincare overwhelms me and i cried in sephora last week. i curse at the dumb 14 year old that found “i’m not like other girl” tumblr and now i don’t know how to do my fucking make up and am too scared to ask. i wish wattpad hasn’t conditioned me to be shy y/n so i can just show my face and not have anxiety attacks. i was 11 when i found erotica in my school’s library and now my perception of love is fuck(ed). i wish i wasn’t numb or bored. i wish the changes had manifested themselves more clearly and like a slap in the face or a boiling stop sign. i wish i didn’t have to go through puberty twice. i wish this was not a midlife crisis.
i don’t know who i am or what I want to be. the very best thing i can follow myself up with is a question mark.
RockConversations
this is nice
in a way i am enthralled by the silence when time stops screaming my name i long for this peaceful disruption where i can be nothing and no one being in between rocks and a place that is no longer hard but melted away walls opening up its rib cage for a deep breath of stillness and sun i am not percieved by anything but the other unconsciousness and the distant light not even (within) myself my voice is silent texts on empty dust streams
the pebble sound a boulder makes when it drops to the ground and no one notices the screaming meaningless of it all
so I don’t know - i answer and the wind smiles
i want to be happy - i cry and the clouds idle i need space - i think and space keeps expanding i am - i stop and everything carries on
ImmortalAphrodite,onyourintri h d f f th
me
with the servings you no longer give to your favorite ex-partner, who remains your best friend while you still love her.
Woman warrior, tarot reader, star chaser.
I remember those days where vague platitudes could make you love most things. These days you wonder if there are any kind words said about you.
And you laugh; people pleaser in recovery.
You decide you do not enjoy becoming a myth for another crush to speak into life.
She/Her London,UK
TAPED TOGETHER
Palebluedot,canyouseeme?
Iamwithinyou,atinyspeckofstardustformedabillion yearsago.Iamenergy,neithercreatednordestroyed, existinginfinitely.Iamasegmentoftheorangethatyougive yourlover,friend,sister,painstakinglypeeled,removingthe fibrousshellthatholdsmewithin.Iamawaveintheocean thatyouswamthroughasachild,saltstinginginyoureyes.I amtheperfumethatyourmotherwore,craningyourneck asnostalgiabrushespast. Iliveintheglossypagesofan album,scuffedattheedgesasthepageswereheld.Iamthe tearthatyoushedwhenyourlifewasrippedapart,andthe handthatyouheldasyoutapedittogetheragain.Iwillnever leaveyou,Iexisthere,now,everywhere.Iwillbesunbathing inthecrevicesoftime realitydistorted.Iwillneverleave myhan rsareintertw gsfrom
BeatlesNostalgia
ByYasminGoshen
Post--grad
Ican’thelpbutthinkall thetime,bigwildswirlsof painandlossand sufferingthatlurkinevery cornerIhidein.Idoallthe thingsI’mtold,take medicine,pickupabenign hobbyandstillitdoesnot help.Istillhave nightmaresthatallmy friendsareleavingme aloneandthereisadoctor slicingsomethingoutof mebeforesendingmeto workaretailjob.Whenthe computersallgodownat workIcartwheeltothe conclusionweareall goingtodieinsome cyberneticapocalypse thatIcouldn’t comprehendifItried.
I’mscaredoflove,mostofall.I’m scaredofbeinglovedmore specifically,apeakbehindthe curtainofagrotesquesideshow. I’mfullofallthislovethatI scrapebackupinsideofmeuntil itburstsout.Itisphysically exhaustingtoholdalltheloveI feelbackinfear.I’manexpert bailer,slippingoutthebackdoor ofsomeone’slifebeforethey evenhadachancetogetto knowme,letaloneloveme; worstofallItrytogiveittothe mostundeservingpeople, becauseIalreadyknowtheywill throwitinanincineratingtrash shoottheminutetheycanfind one.Thatdoesn’tmakeithurt anyless,ofcourse,just predictable.Mylifeisfullof wailingandpleadingwithgod andyetthere’sneverquiteafull release.
Apocalypse
Icanfeelmyselfgetting abrasivetothepeople aroundme,askingthe samequestionsona loopandreconfirming answerstoquestionsI myselfalreadyknowthe answersto.Wetalk aboutthesamethree thingsatnauseumand theoutcomeisnever helpfultoeitherparty.
Ithinktwenty-fouristhe worstageapersoncouldbe, butthenagainIsaidthe sameoftwenty-threeand twenty-one.Ilistentofolk musicandIwatchthedeer eatpetuniasoutofmy neighborsflowerbedandI wonderifthisisalltherewill everbe,aonebedroom apartmentandadeep forebodingfeelingthat nevergoesaway.
10 tips on dealing with men ’ s villianisation of the aging woman!
It’snotabigdeal-Iknowthat.“Grayhairissuchalook.”Saysonefriend,whenIexplaintoher whyIhaven’tcutmyhair.“Ilovemygrayhair.”Saysanother,herdarklocksstreakedwithwhite strands,andsheliftsasection,showsmethelightroots,starkagainsttherest,sproutingfromthe onespotwhereshe’dstruckherheadagainstastair,backwhentheguyshewaswithwasnice enoughtobeworried,butnotniceenoughtobeherboyfriend.
“Ithinkgrayhairissexy.”AguyI’dknownmywholelifetellsmewhenI explaintohimoverthephonethatI’vegottenolder,thatIcanseeitinmy face,thatthelightrootsfreakmeout.Myboyfriendthinksit’ssexy,too.
“It’snotreallythatgray,anyway.”He’dsaidafterI’dburstfromthe bathroom,panickingaboutaging,panickingaboutlookingolder, panickingaboutbeingawomaninsteadofagirl.I’dgrownfrustratedat hisresponse-irritatedbyhisnonchalance.
Don’tyousee,I’dthought,thatI’mlosingmyworth? Thatagingwillruinme?Itdoesn’tmatter-Iknow that.Agingisbeautiful.It’saluxury,somethingsome girlsneverget.Someneverfeeltheweightof womanhoodfillingthecurvesintheirbody,neversee theveinsbegintoagetheirhands,neverwatchinthe mirrorwithscrutinyastheircheekdropsjustslightly. It’sridiculous.It’smanmade.It’svain.It’s humiliating,anti-feminist,pathetic,ageistbullshit. “Igetit.”Agirltoldme,astranger.“You’retooyoungtohavegrayhair.”We’dbeenataparty,and themusicwasloudandthelightswereblueandlowandshehadtoleandowntosayit,herlonghair brushingagainstmycheekassheshoutedthewords.“I’dbescared,too.”It’snotsomuchthatI’m scaredoflookingolder,Ithink.It’snotthatImournthebeautyofmysixteenyearoldface,thesweet youthfulglowbeforetheworlddampenedme.Idon’tcryonmybirthdaybecauseIamscaredof gettingolder,Ithink.It’snotthefearoflines,ofthegrayhairs,ofthewitheredhands.Ithink,really,it’s becauseIdon’tfeelmyage.Ican’tgraspit.
Thelinesbetween20and23and25allblurringandspinningintooneexistencethatreally, honestly,stoppedwhenIwasseventeen.Andtoseethatmybodyisspeedingahead,tofeel theachesandpainsofmaturity,seethesofteningofmyface,thefatthatcomeswith womanhoodandmotherhoodandadulthoodandleavesachildhoodbehindthatreally,
"I'msolate”, notknowingwhereIwanttobeandwhatIam.MyreliefwhenIsawacarcoming towardsmywayinthishazycloudylandscapewaspurebliss. ItfinallystopsandIgetinthemiddleseat. AsIlooktowardsthedriver,Iamblindedbya mosaicofintertwinedlightrays,knottingeachotherwithnobeginningandend.Isitquietly, notdaringtooffendtheangel.Wedriveforwhatseemslikeforever,untilthecarstops.Iturn toseethecardooropening,revealingachildfilledwithenthusiasm.
Hey,I'mMorid!"hesayshappily. "Same!"Ianswer.
Hepointsoutthatwehavethesamenameandstartslaughing. "Youmustbereallyhappyjudgingbyyoursmile."
AsIamlookingathim,Iseesomethingstrange.Ablindfold?Notoverhiseyes,butbelowhis chin,hidingwhateverwaslurkingunderthere.Hisheartisvisibleandbleedingprofusely,but hedoesn'tnotice.Hestartschattingwiththeentityandforamoment, Ithoughtheowned thisvehicle.
“Morid,whatdoesthefuturehold?”heasksmeabruptly.
Isigh,knowingwhatIhavetosay.
"There'sanoceanofyourtearswaitingforyoudownthisdried-upriverofourlife.Youwillbe asclosetodeathasthatonetimeyouaccidentallystabbedyourselfwithscissors."
Helooksatmedumbfounded-Idon'tthinkheheardme.Thecarstops,andheopensthe door."Goodbyemister,hopethefutureisgreat"hesayswithabigsmileonhisface.
Idon'tknowwhattosaytohimanymoresoIjustsmile. Myfirstsmileinawhiletobehonest. I'monceagainalonewithGod.Werideagainforhours,andallIcanhearissomeangelichymn andthesoundofrainhittingtheglasswindow,it'spatteringannoyingme.Untilthecarstops again,andthedooronmyleftopensuprevealinganadultman.
Hisfaceisblurry,andhedoesn'tevenacknowledgeme.Hesitsdownandstartschattingwith it.
Theyseemtobehavingagrandtime,butIcan'thearanything.Thismanknowsthesecretsto everythingIwanttoknow,theknowledgeIdesperatelydesire,uncertaintykillsmesoI musterupthecouragetoaskthemanafewquestions.
"So,what'sthefuturelike"Iaskstutteringafewtimes.
Hefacesmeandstarts talking.Ican'thearanything.Allthatentersmyearsisstatic,asifyou couldhearblurriness.
Thedriveismoresilentthanevernow.
"Iwishthatchildcameback"Ithink,becauseit'strue.Imisshisinnocenceandhisoptimism. ThecarstopsagainandIknowthemanisgoingtoleave.Indesperation,Igrabhisarm pleadingwithhimtotellmemore,butallhedoesisputhishandonmyshouldertoconsole me,andleaves.
I,onceagain,havetodealwiththislonelinessthatisenvelopingme.Thehorizonisclosingin onme,andtheonlythingremainingismeandit.
"Wherearewegoingexactly?"Iaskafterhoursofbuildingthequestionup. "Yourfateisasecretonlydanglingfrommychair,andyouwillhavetoliveittofindout"it answers.IstandinaweforafewmomentsandthepurityofitsvoiceuntilIdecidetoquestion himagain.
"Please,thisuncertaintywillbethedeathofme.JusttellmesoIcandecidewhetherto continuethisroadtrip,"Iplead. Withoutanswering,hegetsbackintothecar,waitingforme.
I'mstandingatthecrossroads,andbehindmeisthesweetreliefIdesire.Abigcloudhovers above,theangelofdeathhidinginitscreases,andinfrontofmeistheuncertaintyIhave livedwithsinceIcanremember-noyesorno,norightorwrong.
Sotellmedearreader-whyhaveIbeenridinginthecarforgodknowshowlong?