Humankind Zine Issue Three: Take Root

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On the Cover

Cover art by Zeinab Ajasa Art Instagram: @amperandfullstop Personal Instagram: @zeeadaj Portfolio:

Editor’s Note Dear Reader, Welcome to the long awaited Issue 3. When we were doing pitches within our team to decide on this issue’s theme, it was during a time where people were still trying to find their footing after what seemed like a two week break from school and work to entering a the early months of 2021 with mixed emotions. Maybe that time was the best or worst of times for many of us. Either way, it was something the team and many of you who submitted resonated with at its core - taking root. I want to take this moment to acknowledge everyone who submitted art and the Humankind Zine team (both former and current members) that worked on this issue. There’s just been a lot that has happened between planning Issue Three, opening submissions, and the time between in the world and our personal lives. The diverse pieces and perspectives in this issue really reflect reslience and creativity of the Humankind Zine community during these times. I found myself inspired by the work in this issue as I was going through some re-rooting in my own life. To those who might feel alone in finding their footing, I hope this issue can serve as a sign that we’re all in this together. I am beyond grateful for those that come to Humankind Zine for a space to be vulnerable, create, and uplift one another through art and storytelling. We hope to continue to reach new heights and move forward with you all to do even more amazing things in the near future. All I can say is thank you. Stay Human, Libbe Phan Humankind Zine | Founding Editor in Chief

THANK YOU, ISSUE THREE TEAM! Founding Editor in Chief: Libbe Phan Creative Director: Haeun Jeon Creative Team: Zeinab Ajasa, Crystal Bowden, Danielle Alexandra Bryant, Briaanna Chiu, Jennifer Gingras, Brenda Holguin, Michaela Keil, Caitlin Noble, Melissa Rodriguez, and Lee Lou Wooden Blog Director: Madelyne R. Sosa Blog Writing Team: Maya Abraham, Regina Aileenteena, Joyce Chen, Abigail Campbell, Ángel Tortolero Coletti, Upsana Das, Emma David, Heloise Johnson, Sophie Lloyd, Tessa Martinez, Isabel Mavrides, Zophia McDougal, Yvonne Pan, Emily Van Ryn, Rosie Shackleton, Via V.K., and Alexis Wang Social Media Team: Sidney Alexander, Joy Bramlett, and Lena Song


Note: All art seen in this zine is owned by the original artist. Any thoughts or opinions expressed in writing is of the artist.

Zeinab Ajasa Chicago-based artist, Zeinab Ajasa, has been illustrating and writing for the majority of her life. Birth ties to America, Nigeria and England inform her work and has helped her come to terms with not having a concrete place to call home. Visually, drawings and writing are often merged into a hybrid to create rich and layered artworks. Poetically, she borders the line between matter-of-fact and nonsensical, usually finding a happy middle with stream-of-consciousness. Illustratively, she deconstructs the rules of comics and makes panelless, compositional stories using experimental typography. She is inspired by the world around her and the people that she chooses to have in her life. The smallest most insignificant thing could catch her eye, and she’ll write or draw about it using type to express the feeling. Life is so rich and full, that even the smallest things, like a ladybird crawling on a window screen, is worth writing about. Check out Zeinab on Instagram @zeeadaj. Her art is on Behance at Zeinab Ajasa and her art Instagram @amperandfullstop.

Steve Williams Jnr. @Sjwilliams

I feel like quarantine was a huge internal recalibration for me, as I did a lot of passive and active healing. I went back to the drawing board with a lot of things, and I feel like if I was never isolated, I would have never found the fortress within my solitude. When it comes to me "Taking root", I feel like these pictures I took accurately show how I got to that. I did a lot of sitting by myself and processed a lot of things that I had avoided processing pre-covid, and did a lot of shooting too to keep me sane. Despite the fact that I am not the one in the photos, the inner peace and clarity I've received can be felt by just looking at these.

i may be broken,

the way dented lampposts rusting away in the lonely corner of an empty street are broken. but that does not mean i am not beautiful the way a dandelion sprouting sunshine-colored blooms and fresh spring shoots through fractures in the faded sidewalk is beautiful, the way ivy sweeping soft blankets of winding leaves over ancient walls as if gently tucking those age-worn structures into a well-deserved bed woven of vines and dusty memories is beautiful, the way the woody limbs of a young tree wrapping around the dull golden glow of a forgotten lamppost like the carefully carved form of a woodland lantern that lights up the forests of the wild fae is beautiful. my heart may be a city slowly dying, an empty metropolis collapsing in on its hollow artificial shell of thin steel and shattered glass. but my soul is the petal-soft fingertips of nature, steadily reclaiming what beauty once belonged to it through the growth of its gentle green grasp.

how broken things grow again

the way buildings crumbling from the weight of history pulling down on their faded bricks are broken,

by Luna Yin IG: @luna.y.writes

the way pieces of pavement cracking from summer heat and winter frost are broken,

Photos by Silvana Smith IG: @eggexplorer

from Jackson, Mississippi @ellen.gwin |

Ellen Gwin from Jackson, Mississippi @ellen.gwin |



IG: @ciaraheathermanfineart

These root vegetable studies serve as a reminder for serving others. The onions were a gift from my neighbor for shoveling his driveway, and the beautiful radishes were included in our farmshare, which supports local farmers. I have seen many heartwarming examples of communities "taking root" and supporting eachother during the pandemic. 6"x9" Gouache on Watercolor Paper 2021

6"x9" Gouache on Watercolor Paper 2021

Red in the Mountains I saw a dip in the rockiness of the earth. Fresh rust and tilled. It was turned over, spilling into itself. Transformative and malleable. It will grow, I concluded. It will form roots. How my heart beat wildly in anticipation against the vibrancy of all that brilliant red.

by Gina Bowen Tennessee IG: @gina.bowen.creative Gina Bowen lives, breathes, and photographs the mountains of Eastern Tennessee. She spends her time writing poetry and short stories on her porch and getting lost in the woods with her pups to photograph the beautiful landscapes. Gina's poetry and photography can be found on Instagram under her handle @gina.bowen.creative.

I Love the Houses by the River The pulsating beneath my skin never seems to cease until I see the easy blue beyond the dog leash / Until I melt into the mountain river running through the Nooga terrain / And like the quickness of a drug, I am instantly calmed / Water baby, they always called me / Always moving / Unable to still / Not like this / And as I breathe deeply, I can taste saltwater and feel for a moment that I, too, could be just as still / Smooth, like the silken tread of the tugboats that pass by / Behind lie the little White House’s cradled by little yellow ferns / I clutch my notebook whilst Jolene digs holes in the dirt and I think about pine Christmas wreaths with red ribbons, and small greenery hung around beach house doorways, and the wooden planks of the gray porches inviting me to dance on the thresholds / Bay windows allow me to peek at the paintings displayed upon tiny house walls; Personal galleries of intimate memories enveloped in soft yellow light / I think of beach mornings and sunflower toes adorned with electric blue flip flops, and I think to myself: this is as close to the beach as I’ll ever get / And I think to myself: I think I just might be able to live here / I think about how I am not fancy-rich or southern money and frown over dashed dreams while my pen does all the imagining / For now, when the town is warm and the breeze is just right, I can spend my evenings in my sleepy little beach town by my quiet-still river / And then I will breathe /And then I will dream.

Untitled Wisteria is creeping down the trees Obscuring the view To the house Too long gone from my heart A broken rope swing Is waving goodbye Everything is shuddering in disrepair I am shuddering in disrepair Ghosts of the past echo my name A silent vigil An informal reunion For times long forgotten Broken innocence Trails the dead forget-me-not blossoms in the garden Daffodils standing proudly They’ve weathered another dark winter underground Timeless Rising like clockwork for another season watching everything else fall away board by board Brick by brick Walls falling down all around them and they are dauntless in their approach to the sun Unwavering Reaching for the sky Eager with the hope of a new day That god has promised them God has promised me Dig down deep Root Rest, restore Emerge anew Written by Amy Tuberville @theangelinthedarkness

Roots in the Air by Isabel Arias

Winter love we are soft, when you roll me in the morning dew holding me, shivery and hot camomile, paper mâché leaves in November we are headed underground, this I know you will sweep me into the earths rancid core with no glance backwards at the town with its sugarcane lights comb my eyes, sweet and light carry my mind, my weary life oh, girl that I love devote it all to the cause

Millicent Stott from Durham, England IG: @mills.poetry

ambedo n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake. [from the dictionary of obscure sorrows] Tatum Van Dam

Helpful Icons Jasmine Lillis from Chicago, Illinois| @jasminelillis

If you find you need a helpful reminder to be environmentally conscious – keep this icon, post it somewhere visible. Just remember that the Earth is our friend.

This Neighborhood Peels Like Paper Your home was dressed in lilies that died long ago yet somehow kept you alive and the cracks – at the bottom of the walls spoke of longing: “to never leave what’s been left” is what they would so often croak as if a house your heart and your heart this manor because to look out of one great big window and dream of a hundred different doors to walk through is one of life’s wrongly wrapped gifts with inside it a treasure ‘til death I need her to know that it is all in the manor’s grass beyond the window’s succulent sill it is all in her gaze that grazes upon it that takes a hundred doors and makes an entire estate

Michelle Freya Vancouver, British Columbia IG: @wordsbyfreya

Team credits: Conceptualized and directed by Seigar 1 2 3 Sin Etiquetas / 1 2 3 No Hashtags Project: @123sinetiquetas Sol @masqueunatalla Kitty @kitty_von_freud Participants: Adriana @pink.adriana Silvia @pitamy Yara @yarukuta Patricia @patriciafarrais88 Sol @masqueunatalla Yubmary @yubmary Christina @christina.maria.f, Kitty @kitty_von_freud

Seigar is a passionate travel, street, social documentary, conceptual, and pop visual artist based in Tenerife. He feels obsessed with the pop culture that he shows in his works. He is a fetishist for reflections, saturated colors, curious finds, and religious icons. He also writes for some media and does video. His main inspirations are traveling and people. His aim as an artist is to tell tales with his camera, creating a continuous storyline from his trips, encounters, and experiences. His most ambitious projects so far are his Plastic People, a study on anthropology and sociology that focuses on the humanization of the mannequins he finds in the shop windows all over the world, and his Tales of a City, an ongoing urban photo-narrative project taken in London. He is a philologist and also works as a secondary school teacher. He is a self-taught visual artist, though he has done a two years course in advanced photography and one in cinema and television. He has participated in several exhibitions and his works have been featured in many publications. He has collaborated with different media such as VICE and WAG1. He writes for Dodho, The Cultural, Red Hot Monde, Intra Mag, and Memoir Mixtapes about pop

culture. Lately, he has experimented with video forms. His last interest is documenting identity. Recently, he received the Rafael Ramos García International Photography Award. Webpage: Galleries: IG: @jseigar


by Crystal Bowden Atlanta, GA IG: @crystal_bowden

An ekphrastic poem. Inspired by the painting Roots by Frida Kahlo (1943).

Cushion my battered body in your loving embrace, Land split into pieces, broken Barren, Fragments of itself Or is that me? No matter, We are but the same. Lay me out Flesh returned to earth To heal you in a way I’ll never be able to heal myself. Beginnings, your source Reconcile life through blood There is no place for me here A return to the ground That birthed me into this pain.

the kitten in my chest fear lives in me. this very moment its curled up in my chest, purring like a satisfied kitten, even in one so inconsequential as this. in the larger moments, those ones, where you take giant leaps into the unknown, fear wakes up and pounces on the prey of your creative ideas before they even have the chance to toddle out into the world. how willing are we to fight for it? to shake ourselves loose enough from its grasp and leap across the gaping canyon that blocks us from the truest version of ourselves. there stands the darkness, doubt, skeletons, past and future failures. I want to leap, so I do. and it’s as if time slows to its most sluggish pace as I glide forward, almost against my will once I begin, riding the momentum of what thrust me along. when I land, and you always do, land I mean, (we all do). when I land, the earth quakes beneath my feet and I wobble, teetering right along the edge, overwhelmed from the sheer impact of my will. maybe it was too much. maybe I can’t, but then I right myself, finding my balance and plant my feet firm. I can hold the kitten in my chest, even as I fly.

trauma persists to the roots by Danielle Alexandra

If a tree begins to die, from drought, drowning or disease, usually its roots are last to die. If a tree completely dies, the roots will eventually decompose. Once dead, trees like oaks, maples and pines never grow back from their roots. In much of the Southwest, the landscape is largely populated by piñon pine trees. These pictures were taken in the Arroyo Hondo Open Space Area, outside of Santa Fe. Like many areas in the Southwest, the landscape in the past two decades has suffered drought, fires and disease caused by the temperature climb from our climate crisis. The open space is now riddled with looming, still magnificent, corpses of piñon trees. I visited this place fifteen months after suffering a traumatic brain injury. As I encountered each dead tree, stark in their white bones against the warm soil, I thought of their roots and wondered how deep in the earth they grew, how much further the death spread underground — beyond what I could see.

A t t he s a m e t i m e, I ma rve le d a t th e u ny i e l d i ng n a tur e o f th ese pi ñ o n s - e v en i n pain, eve n in d ea th . T h e y s t oo d t all , b r az en a n d u n b end i n g , n ak ed in th e sun , re f us i n g t o f al l. A defia n t re mi n d er o f t he t ra u m a inf lic ted up on t he e a r t h t h ey la y in, a n d t he s ky th e y s to o d u nd er. I wi s he d th at I c o ul d be a s b o l d i n c on f r o nt i n g a nd ca rr ying my o w n t r au m a .

The brain injury e ro d ed m u c h o f my foun dation , leav i ng my r o o t s frail and plagued by p ai n . B u t I am alive. I c ar ry my t r a u ma wi th me — in physic al w ay s i n my body: dail y he adac h e s, h ea r i ng los s & n e rve dama g e. I ca r r y t raum a de ep in side mys el f - in far re achin g r oot s o f sad n es s, an ge r, s ham e an d unf o rg i ve ne ss .

A lth o u g h I’ ve su r v iv ed, u n lik e t he se tr ees , I am fore ver chan ge d. I n t his s e ri e s o f p h o t o g ra p h s , s tr ipp ed a s b ar e a s t h e t re e s, I braze nly boas t my s urv ivin g bod y. A b o dy t ha t ha s w i th s t o o d sh att er ing ph ysical t rauma, and is c on te nd ing dee ply roo t e d e mo ti on a l t ra um a . A b od y t ha t w ill not pe rish , but on e that will co nt inue to fight for g r o w th , f o r hea lt h & h ea lin g, an d for a givin g en viron m en t. B e c a u s e o n c e d ead , tr ees lik e pin e s, t re es like me , nev er gro w back from the i r r o o ts.

Grandma's BY




Drawn at my Grandma's apartment, celebrating my Dad's birthday. I'm taking root by reconnecting and appreciating the time with my family.

esc ape Millicent Stott Durham, England | IG: @mills.poetry

Consider it these times are sacred the ones where I can no longer hear voices tearing on the wind for the memories have button eyes and they come for me at night prim and horrific, wearing aprons pattered in flour but now the owl cries, the river sings I hear the gurgle of the drains and lay a little closer to you

Tatum Van Dam

Grounded Rooted onto a hardwood floor branded with scratches from screeching fingernails clawing on for dear life as the shadows pull at cracked heels now bleeding from full force. Violent tugs meant with impatient groans Muted by fear’s subtle smirk Paralyzed by her seductive flair Being gently pulled with solid force on scratched surfaces forged from sharpened fingernails Rooted by terror. Jackie Bluu IG - @jackie_bluu FB - @authorjackiebluu

body of FLORA by Danielle Alexandra

Throughout lockdown I was forced to more deeply observe my immediate surroundings - the four walls of my room and everything within it a space which I often overlooked, or passed through, rarely giving a second glance. In my observations, I became intimately involved with the intricacies of my space - my body, my plants, and the light within my room. Using this light I began exploring my body’s texture, and the relationship of my body to the texture of the flora around me. As I became more observant and mindful of myself and my plants, my attachment and affection for each stem, curve, leaf, leg, and shape grew exponentially. It became a concentrated effort to find the perfect position for each plant, and every day became an exploration of where the morning and afternoon light fell, and how both my plants and my body thrived in this light.

The sun & its energy brought my body joy, peace, and continually grounded me. As the world grew smaller, this personal connection to light and earth, within and beyond my room, became essential for me. This series acts as a personal reminder that my body carries history the same way flora & land does. The earth shows the trauma we inflict on it, plants show stress from drought or drowning, and my own body holds scars, trauma, injuries, and pain. As plants grow, change, and flourish, so does my body. My body is strong & resilient, my body holds energy, my body carries me, my body supports me, and my body grows with me.

open hearted

Mia Ignazio Boston, Massachusetts @miavictoriaphotography

Take Root • 02

Third Space No. 1

Third Space

A series by Mia Takemoto Edinburgh, Scotland IG:

Third Space No. 2

Third Space is a series of paintings depicting my family at home during lockdown. Whilst they depict personal, intimate moments from my individual life, the motif of the dining table is universally recognisable as a centre of interaction and shared experiences within the home. Placed beyond the doorframe of the dining room, the viewer is given an insight into my home and my roots. The series is part of my exploration of Third Space theory, in which I attempt to visualise ideas around hybridity and detachment related to my multicultural roots. In these paintings, I use doorways and rooms to separate the viewer from my home, physicalising the notion of a third space.

Light Outside My Window by by ASHA ASHA WOODLAND WOODLAND

__ || YT: YT: Ash Ash Woodland Woodland Films Films

IG: IG: Ashwoodland Ashwoodland

There’s a light outside my window, That I noticed when I looked outside. I hadn’t seen it in a while And thought it had gotten lost within my mind. But the strange thing Was that I saw this spark at midnight, When the world was asleep in a dreamy haze. I was wondering like a ghost Between the cracks in the floor, When, outside my window, my eye was caught by the dancing flames. I asked them where they’d been for so long And why they decided to show up that night. They told me that there were others that needed them more, That they knew I’d be okay now, even without their constant light. “But we’ve decided you need a break from here,” they said, twisting into a cloudy purple smoke, “Come with us, we'll take you to the ocean, where there’s nothing else to do but hope.” We travelled on a bright blue train that didn’t need someone to drive, As the tracks were made of tree branches That were still very much alive. The branches took us through a tunnel that seemed to run on forever, But the flames just kept on dancing, Keeping me warm as we watched the stars laughing together. We arrived at the seaside at sunrise, The sky opened to let us through to the other side. I thanked the tree branches for their kindness and for providing us all with such a smooth ride. I felt the soft sand run beneath my feet And a cool breeze blow on my skin and through my air, The shells greeted me and told me all their tales Of a life lived somewhere between here and there. I was a bit shaken when I saw the flames disappear into the sea, But the waves told me not to worry, because they knew I still feel them burning inside of me I can’t remember if I spent a day or 50 lifetimes watching the waves crash on the sore, But when the train took me back home again, I was different to who I was before. I felt the calm twisting within my veins, The rhythm that moved in my chest and my spine. I realized that I’d never felt this way before, Like now I was skipping in all directions After walking in a straight line. And the ground that used to tremble Now told me it would be alright, As I climbed under my blankets And turned to switch off the light... I felt a pang in my chest for a split second As I wondered if the flames would ever return, What if I never saw them again? What if, inside me, they twisted so much that they’d burn? But that feeling didn’t last as long as it had many times before, Because I knew the ocean spoke with the soil, the tree trunks, and ever crack in the floor. And I knew the flames lived in everything In everyone, including me. And they wouldn’t burn so that it hurt if i knew when to contain them and when to set them free. As I closed my eyes, I whispered into the darkness something I never thought I would say, “Thank you, for showing me that there is peace in uncertainty. I hope I’ll find that train again someday.”

They/Them Series “Nonbinary people are all”

A series by AJ Schnettler (They/Them) @ajschnettler |


I am an ungraceful muse to myself. Cumbersome and clumsy; My feet always take me Where I need to go. Bruised and bitten; These legs of mine Hold me And carry me to the next tree Under which I will sit.

I am feisty my skin rebels; Angered by stress and hot weather. But still come the freckles In constellations To decorate me for a while.

By Rosie Shackleton Scotland IG: @rosie_shackleton

Ever-pale or reddened even My face holds my laugh And my teeth (which occasionally crumble away in dreams of mine) Frustratingly, I order myself to be soft and sharp simultaneously. “Oh God, I am so human.” To stand here and demand such things. We slow danced to the radio last night, again, Slid our socked feet across the floor, Hit our heads on the lampshade when we twirled and we twirled at least three times each. We dove into swaying limbs and shared gazes, Quiet reverence, speechless seriousness. I pressed my forehead to yours, and my chest to yours, and my hips to yours, and you put your feet over mine. We grew into each other, like spiralling vines, Interlocking fingers and branches and wrists and budding leaves. We bloomed, last night, again. When the news came on on the hour, We turned the radio down to a soft murmur. Dark reports were relegated to a hum, Headlines simply the host whispering sweet nothings only to us.

LULLABY By Alex Howe IG: @alexhowewrites

Alex Howe is a queer poet currently residing in Brighton. Their work has recently appeared in Pilot Press’ Queer Anthology of Wilderness, multiple Eggbox Publishing anthologies, Spit Poet Zine, Just Snails?!, Riot and Roux! and Persephone’s Daughters. They are a Writer and Development Officer at Rrramble blog.

Sarah E @saraheswist "Happy Home" 10x10 Acrylic on Panel 2020


"At Home" 10x10 Acrylic on Panel 2020





Asha Woodland from South Africa Instagram: @ashwoodland_ YouTube: Ash Woodland Films


A love letter to life I love being in the car at night and seeing the lights glowing in the distance from all the houses passing by I love ladybirds and tortoises and thunder and chameleons And when you feel so much joy you want to cry I love when people are listening to music in earphones and sing along softly to themselves I love complimenting strangers And when someone gets genuinely excited for somebody else I love reading happy birthday messages and sending them too I love yellow cars and tie-dye T-shirts and big windows and blue shoes I love walking in the evening and earrings that don’t match I love baobab trees and humming and colourful stones and painting my nails black I love when I see a child run into their parents arms And the different ways that people laugh I love listening to songs played live and hearing the crowd sing along I love bunk beds and dragonflies and giraffes I love running when it’s windy and feeling my hair blow across my face I love sticking my head out of the car window at night And going back to a familiar place I love when I watch a movie from my childhood and remember all the words I love flowy pants with patterns on them And umbrellas and feathers and seashells and hummingbirds I love round glasses and doodling in notebooks And how no one’s handwriting is the same I love holes in trees And when people write on their shoes And beaded necklaces and mangoes and creating art out of pain I love dreaming about something I forgot I remembered And hearing all the questions my little cousins ask I love jackalberry trees and jumping and dancing to music in my room I love sunsets and moments of peace that last I love when you meet someone new and instantly click Or when you see a friend you haven’t seen in awhile and catch up I love when one of my favourite artists releases a new song And when you have the overwhelming feeling of pure joy that you didn’t give up I love moments when you want nothing more than to simply BE, Be here, Right now, To look, And feel, And hope, And sigh, And see. See all the things I love, All the wonder that blows in the breeze, What a wondrous day To sit And watch And hear And simply breath.

Self Portrait Courtney Phillips from Australia IG: @courtneyphillipsstorytelling

i am my own becoming and undoing. hazel eyes shine in the sunlight but they have not been bright in some time. liquid gold pours down my cheeks and leaves specks and freckles that have only grown tarnished. copper crumbs of dying constellations. my cheeks are full but i do not take the bites out of life that i wish to. they are empty other than my teeth, clenched shut and crooked at the front. i bite the hands that come too close, and kiss the hand that feeds me. i used to kiss hands that didn’t, too. i learnt not to. there’s only one cup and one spoon and one bowl that i like to use at home but i think we know by now that i have a picky appetite. my pockets on too-tight or too-baggy jeans are overflowing with dreams. my hands are ink and paint stained. my nails filled with dirt even when they are clean. i am a plant reaching from beneath the earth. reaching for sunlight and the release of rain. my ears are filled with distant birdsongs and sometimes they are overflowing too. i have trouble listening. eyes clouded over. the world moves faster than my hands can hold onto it. i drag memories with me, pulling them across the sky; cirrus clouds. i have trouble letting go. head in the clouds and feet six feet under. mind six feet under and filled with dark nights. press my pen to my pupil and find more ink to write. from my nose, more ink to write. i am terrified of dying. i am terrified of being forgotten. i have thrown myself into the arms of panic and only sometimes am i strong enough to step away. i am becoming- becoming- becoming- at the fastest pace i can carry. there is so much that i carry. i never thought that clouds would be this heavy. i am my own becoming and my own undoing.

Thank you for reading Issue Three: Take Root! If you’d like to stay updated with Humankind Zine, check us out at the handles and links below. | IG/TikTok: @humankindzine