RAG MAY 2015 | ISSUE 3 | BODY
In my senior year of high school, my English teacher asked the class to write a “summing-up” poem that explored some of the most important or notable experiences that we’ve had up to the present. Here is that poem together with a new one that reflects more recent experiences.
18 22 In the eighteen years I have lived There are things I will never forget: The wonderment of Barbies Joyfully swinging through the air Finding comfort In the words of another Discovering a best friend
In the twenty-two years I have lived There are things I will never forget: My freshman year Crying in front of that writing center tutor Discovering the fire Watching it grow Not always caring if it burned
Knowing the anguish of loss Chasing a fox to the end of the world And the taste of failure Sentir el silencio Finding my strength Learning what it means to be alone Traveling to new And coming to terms with the terrifying nature of it And different worlds Camping in the woods with someone Feeling so small Who I mean the world to Realizing how fortunate I am Carrots And the true meaning of freedom That one night I can’t seem to forget Witnessing a fairytale But it would be so much easier if I did Learning the art of survival Beautiful letters Jumping from the plane That one awkward Tinder date And falling from the sky (or maybe a couple) But really floating Fucking the patriarchy Smelling the rain Capitalism Playing in the snow [insert more –isms here] Feeling the cool wind One step at a time Softly brush my skin Learning to appreciate my roots Yearning for something more And the stars that live there Something better The smell of incense And knowing that this That carries with it Is only the beginning The biggest secret I have ever owned Feeling loved And heard And seen Like never before Finding a community And then bracing myself to leave And knowing that this Is only the beginning
summing-UP
POEM
1. My art is about my body, sex, and cacti. 2. I want to explore placing sexuality onto strange objects. 3. Because we live in a porn industry culture, we are told what sex is supposed to be like instead of deciding for ourselves. 4. To me, any sex is the right kind of sex, and any object can become part of sex if we want it to (the cactus, for ex.). Women have power to define what is sexual to them, despite what culture says. 5. However, most of the time I have no control over what I find sexually stimulating. 6. My art is often about gaining and submitting control. 7. For my whole life, I’ve felt ashamed about my masochist sexuality. 8. I’ve reclaimed the cactus as a definition of the body that loves and hates pain. 9. The cactus is a body that can survive alone in harsh climates and improvises when resources are scarce.
C AC TuS
P L uG
13. As a teenager, I was very insecure about my appearance, but now I am confident. These pieces are about being happy about my body, and I’m aware that culture doesn’t want me to be. 14. The cactus represents the female who is not ultra femme, and therefore not seen as conventionally beautiful to most of society. (I have a lot of body hair and I don’t wear makeup and I dress a certain way, etc.) 15. These works are also explorations in exploiting one’s naked body in one’s art – as an exhibitionist, I gain pleasure from my art.
10. This piece depicts masturbation – having sexuality alone, without a partner – and reclaiming the alone, individual body. Even as loneliness is painful, this pain and pity can be pleasurable.
16. The story of Adam and Eve teaches us that the naked body is shameful.
11. The cacti I draw are phallic – an obvious representation of heterosexual penetrative sex. Because the phallus is covered in needles, it represents BDSM but also emotional pain that sex triggers.
18. This exhibitionism can be problematic – because of porn culture, someone else can sexually “use” any image of a naked woman, even if it wasn’t intended to be sexual or used this way.
12. Aesthetically, the cactus is a body that is pleasing, but not conventionally beautiful or pretty or feminine like other plants are stereotyped.
19. Many BDSM participants are aroused by the thought of “using” someone else’s body beyond their control.
B Y DEL I A
RAI NE Y
17. In BDSM, shame and humiliation are sexually stimulating.
20. I understand that showing my body, even in a drawing surrounded by goofy flowers, cannot escape the definition of sexual advertisements for my body, or porn. 21. These works explore many in–between and contradictory spaces. Between anti-porn and pro-porn. Between pleasure and pain. Between self-admiration and self-shame. Between control and powerlessness. Between consent and rape.
Black THOT Collective 10 point program
1. We, the members of the Black THOT Collective, want to have sex in the context of pleasure; we want to have sex wrapped in desire, agency, and self-care; we want to have sex in a way that allows our sexuality and politics to exist in bliss. 2. We want sexual freedom. We want the power to have sex with whomever we want without the misogynoir-istic input of society. We want to be in charge of the quantity of our sexual partners and the quality of our sexual acts, without oppressive systems weighing down on our orgasms. 3. We want full respect for sex workers. Whether bouncing on poles or anything else, we want them to have full agency over their bodies. Within that respect, sex workers deserve the support of our community by way of love, safety, and security. 4. We want an end to the patriarchal, capitalist, and white supremacist control of Black womyn’s sexuality. 5. We want civilized treatment of our already hyper-sexualized bodies. Our sexuality is not meant for medical experimentation, reproductive control by the State, sterilization, or any other dehumanizing forms of oppression. Contrary to popular belief, our sexuality is not public property. 6. We want education that is centered upon the sexuality of Black womyn. We deserve literature that speaks directly to our sexual experiences and histories. This education must be free of misogynoir, heterosexism, and slut-shaming so that we
can tell our peers to unsubscribe from “Respectability Politics Monthly” and do some damn-good reading. 7. We want all Black womyn to be exempt from having to deal with ain’t shit Black men that find it necessary to remind us “Queens” about the importance of “purity” and the equal importance of judging the “impure” Black womyn we come across. Our sexuality does not have to be pure, palatable, or “appropriate.” Bye. 8. We want an immediate end to the police brutality and murder of Black sex workers and trans womyn. We want an immediate end to the police brutality and murder of Black sex workers and trans womyn. We want an immediate end to the police brutality and murder of Black sex workers and trans womyn. 9. We want freedom from binaries. We despise binaries of all types and especially disagree with those associated with sexual activity. Sex does not definitely equal liberation, and lack of sex does not definitely equal oppression. Sex does not absolutely equal shame, and lack of sex does not absolutely equal respectability. 10. We want Black womyn to have ownership over their own bodies. We want Black womyn to have the agency to recognize the difference between submissiveness and powerlessness & to recognize the difference between sexual empowerment and sexual exploitation. We want Black womyn to be in control of their experiences.
POLICE THIS
FACTS ABOUT MY BEAUTIFUL BLACK ASS My body is MINE. All the lips, folds, and stretch marks are kin to ME and I could care LESS about any problems you have with them. My body is sexually active. I love SEX. Sensual, sweaty, sloppy, aggressive (consensual) SEX. This love for sex ain’t holding back the Black community nor is it endangering the sensuality or sexuality of anyone else. My body is fucking beautiful. My big breasts, big thighs, chunky ass, chubby waist, and dark skin are all HONEY granted to me by this earth. Me, my beautiful body, and my sexuality are RESPECTABLE BECAUSE I SAY THEY ARE.
by Belquis Elhadi
My being, my becoming.
This Animal I Live In
I will share a secret with you, but you have to pinkypromise not to tell anyone else: Sometimes I lick the white pus that splatters on the mirror when I pop a zit. Things Helen reingests in Wetlands: mucus, vaginal discharge, semen, her friend’s vomit, boogers, blood. She dubs herself Korperauscheidungsrecyclerin,” aka “Bodily-secretion-recycler.” “You are voracious.” “As a kid I even ate my scabs. I loved them.” –Blue Is The Warmest Color
My flesh, my shame. One week: I went through an especially bad dissociative spell. 7 days: I did not touch myself. I did not live inside myself. 168 hours: I forgot I had left a tampon inside me. Oops. “Wisdom says forget, the body howls.” –Jeanette Winterson, Written On The Body Indent on left hip | Top of outer right labia | Crease where right inner thigh meets vulva These are places I have scars from scabies nodules. They still itch when my immune system is weak.
My offering, my sacrifice. “Extractions also appeal to the neat freaks and the fixers among us. It’s purging bacteria, releasing tension, easing discomfort, then sweeping the whole gross business away like it never happened.” –Sali Hughes, Are Zit-Squeezing Videos The New Porn? (Vice.com) I make myself throw up when I am upset. It is a spiritual purging of all the residual negative energy harbored by my body. I make myself throw up when I am grieving. It makes the feeling of loss physical, an emptying pit I can locate in my stomach. I make myself throw up when I need to shut up. It quiets my mind, so all I can think of is whether my eyes will pop out of their sockets. “My bowels are empty / excreting your soul / What more can I give you? / Baby I don’t know” -Patti Smith, Pissing In A River
My pain, my pleasure. When I was 8, I got pinworms. So as not to spread them, my mom had to tell me not to itch my asshole or masturbate. (She did not use these words). I expelled the last of the pinworms and returned to masturbating sans the shame my mother was worried I would develop. Another secret you have to pinky-promise not to tell: For six months, I couldn’t cum unless I bit my arm or lip until I broke skin. I don’t how it started or why it stopped. Things I do not understand: -Bellybuttons -How some of us can accidentally create human beings -Why anyone is ever bored in lecture, because kegels.
My vessel, my wonder. My miracle, my mystery. When I was 19, I broke out in itchy spots all over my body. After two weeks, I had 31 exactly. The woman I loved always had eczema, so naturally I assumed it was empathic affliction. I wrote poetry when I should have gone to the doctor. It was ringworm. How can a doctor know better than me this animal I live in? Yesterday: I had a thick white coating on tongue, possible candida. Today: I take a round of antibiotics for bacterial vaginosis. Tomorrow: I will spiral out of control on webmd.
“Unruly women have unruly bodies.” –Anne Helen Peterson People call my person Mary Bifulco. I am naming this beautiful, gross mass of tissue because yours is beautiful and gross and nameable too. And because if you are anything like me, you are afraid to do so even to the professionals in white garb to whom you pay exorbitant amounts of money. And because no one can hold against you or me what we have already claimed as our own. “A body is made real in its failing.” –Cole Swenson My vehicle, my animal, my body.
Body positivity is not easy. At last I have reached a high point in my journey where I am in constant awe with my huge crooked lips, love handles, voluptuous booty, and forever-glowing dark melanin-rich skin. This love came after multiple attempts of failed weight loss crazes. I spent countless time after time exercising, dieting and all the other trendy things to lose weight. Nothing worked. It began to consume me, almost to a state of depression. The constant pressure to have a perfect hip-to-waist ratio was in my face everywhere and I wanted it really bad. Eventually, I realized the importance of loving yourself because at the end of the day compliments are temporary & reality slaps you in the face when you’re unclothed about to enter the shower and you start to realize mentality surpasses physicality. The process of self-love is different for everyone, but once you reach the ultimate state of self-body positivity, it is liberating. So you might as well look in that mirror and embrace the imperfections & unique attributes that make you flawless, because you are. Fast forward a bit and I’ve left the obsession to alter my body in the past and am now embracing my body the way God created it:
curvy, dark, & sexy as hell.
Melanin
-
o
Enriched
, y d o b y m . e l p m e t y m
by timoshanae wellmaker
It’s so crazy the past few months have been the most proud I have ever been with my body. And no, I’ve never been super self-conscious but this feeling that I have now feels dang good- even better than before. My ex used to say things to me that would actually have a take on how I felt about myself and I never thought I would be that female. I know this is going to seem crazy to some people, but I actually felt fat. And I don’t mean the “fat” days I still fall victim to. I mean, he told me I needed to work on my stomach and get myself together. And some other comments that made my “confident” self think twice. No, no, no. I’m so glad to have myself back and be even better. My body? My body is great. It’s damn great. And factor this in, I’m saying this after one of the most “fattest” months of my life due to unhealthy eating, a lack of exercising and so much dang stress. I look good and I feel good. Hell, and that same guy that had so much to say about my body before is still on my line and he isn’t the only one. Looking back, I can’t believe I ever let someone do that to me. After our break up my sophomore year I found myself working out multiple times a day, changing my diet and constantly checking the mirror. It wasn’t until a talk with my mom when I realized that the actual reason I was doing all of this wasn’t a healthy one. It wasn’t because I wanted to be healthier per se, it was because of the things he had told me. But I’m so thankful to say that I don’t give a damn what anyone has to say about my body. According to society, I’m skinny but then not skinny skinny and sometimes I’m thick but only sort of thick- blah blah blah. BULL! I know how important it is to feel good about yourself and I’m always an advocate for self-confidence. Because if you don’t feel good, you don’t look good and you just won’t be good. But this particular experience made me aware that even while being so-called confident and such, one can fall into believing someone else’s words about themselves. That makes no sense though! How is someone going to tell me about me? That’s just not how it works, I am beautiful. So beautiful! And while it’s much more than physical beauty, I’ve got to say that I’ve got that covered too. So I just want to end this by encouraging every single person to seriously love themselves, love you!! You are beautiful, give yourself props. You look dang good girl, just work what you got.
corpse flower FUCK ME
FUCK ME
I CAN’T FEEL IT
FUCK ME
I CAN’T FEEL IT
LICK ME TASTE ME SWALLOW TEARS AND SWEAT I CAN’T FEEL IT
LICK ME TASTE ME SWALLOW TEARS AND SWEAT
BITE DOWN, BREAK SKIN LET ME CUM
LICK ME TASTE ME SWALLOW TEARS AND SWEAT
BITE DOWN, BREAK SKIN LET ME CUM
LET ME DRINK YOUR SPIT
BITE DOWN, BREAK SKIN LET ME CUM
LET ME DRINK YOUR SPIT
MAKE ME HURT MAKE ME BLEED MAKE ME CRY LET ME DRINK YOUR SPIT
MAKE ME HURT MAKE ME BLEED MAKE ME CRY
MAKE ME MOAN MAKE ME FEEL REAL
MAKE ME HURT MAKE ME BLEED MAKE ME CRY
MAKE ME MOAN MAKE ME FEEL REAL GIVE MY BODY SHAPE WITH YOURS
MAKE ME MOAN MAKE ME FEEL REAL
I AM NEGATIVE SPACE
GIVE MY BODY SHAPE WITH YOURS
I AM NEGATIVE SPACE
GIVE MY BODY SHAPE WITH YOURS
INDUCE ENDLESS VOMITING I AM NEGATIVE SPACE
INDUCE ENDLESS VOMITING
EXHUME SELF IN EXPULSION
INDUCE ENDLESS VOMITING
EXHUME SELF IN EXPULSION
EXHUME SELF IN EXPULSION
This summer has been an exercise of body respect for me. As I finished out a stressful, yet amazing, sophomore year at Mizzou that included lots of involvement and caring for others and not as much exercise as I would like, I looked wistfully at pictures of high school me in x-small lacrosse uniforms. This will be the summer I get back to that, I thought. I felt, as my lovely friend Alise puts it, ‘squishy.’ I wanted to be the elusive ‘skinny’ again. Skinny.
“Skin is some thing All h
ave.”
we
Body Language
*thoughts from a self-care bike ride*
By Veronica Destefano
It doesn’t really make sense. ‘Skin’ is something we all have. It’s something that people choose to show or not, decorate or pierce, but it isn’t an opposite to fat in any biological or anatomical sense. But, it embodied the opposite of the hateful feeling I felt when I became all too conscious of my thighs sticking together as I sat in a rickety Metra train car, when I swiftly walked through the city and the small squiggle of a stretch mark decorating them. It embodied a strange promise I once made to myself that I wouldn’t go over a size 2, or my distress when I went up a couple cup sizes signaling in my brain, You are getting fat.
It’s summer, which equals a great deal of skin freedom in the form of bathing suits, booty shorts and crop tops, all of which I love. But, I would pick up my little high-waisted shorts and a fashion police officer would whistle in my head holding up a stop sign, warning me of all of the thigh people could see if I put them on. Or, god forbid, I wear something that bared a not perfectly tanned and toned midriff. I kept seeing images of girls I knew, and some I didn’t, looking like they were pulled from a perfect beach body ad. One former high school classmate posted a before/after tummy pic on Instagram to proclaim her success on ridding herself of the dreaded Freshman 15 and spewing words of encouragement hoping that people would see it and feel inspired to make a change they wanted to with their bodies. People, people, people.
“My y d o b is ” . e n mi
I like to please them plenty, but why did they keep getting pulled into the conversation about my body? As much as people try to define body perfection or goals, such as ridiculous vanity sizes a la J. Crew, my body is mine. My body is mine. I exercise to feel strong, not because I want to impress someone with a toned torso and limbs. It’s me commandeering my own body, which is incredibly empowering when you think about it. Sure, my genetics have given me a little bit more thigh and booty than what society might try to deem as pretty, but they help me dance, which is probably my favorite thing to do with my body. And, I will continue to dance because my body is mine, and I plan to do something radical with it: Love it.
I am photographing myself to get outside perspective on what I ignore internally. Because of my life experiences, my body has come to be a certain way; I carry my experiences around in my tissue. I have mapped my life on my body but by photographing my journey of unconsciousness I am finally able to begin to break through some of my soft, but tough, armor. My images feel like celebrations of what the body can endure, and at the same time warnings of what can happen to the body when you ignore it. My original intent in this figure study was to challenge media-driven standards of beauty by showing an overweight body as being beautiful; I have since realized I need to challenge my own standards first to allow myself to feel beautiful. I photograph my own body, daring myself to feel comfortable with other people viewing me as well as really looking at myself. I am forcing myself to become the observer, as well as the observed. I have begun to feel more at home in my body, able to see it as simultaneously terrifying and beautiful. by Kelsey Hammond
An Apology An Apology To my body To my body by Tiffany Melecio
I’m sorry for not staying home when you were feeling like shit and running a fever. And I’m sorry for smearing your tears on my sleeves shamefully and cringing every month when you bleed naturally. I’m sorry for feeling guilty whenever a girl or woman made you stir down there and come alive like no man ever did. Or ever could. I’m sorry for putting too much Midol in you because the cramps are too much. I’m pretty sure you’re okay with that though. I’m sorry for thinking that your breasts are not large enough or for feeling terrible whenever someone told you your ass was boney. I’m sorry for taking away the hair that is meant to protect you. I’m sorry for scratching you with thumbtacks, pen caps, and Love Your Body buttons every time you wanted to feel something. I’m also sorry for knowing that I won’t stop doing that. I’m sorry body for not listening to you when you just don’t have the energy to stay up and have one more conversation. I’m sorry for forcing you to have sex with him more times than you wanted to. I’m so sorry for putting your life at risk with that one problematic, bigoted man you met on Tinder. Please forgive me body for not valuing the rarity of your skin color, for not fighting for you sooner, and for having too many things to apologize for. And I’m sorry for forgetting that your mind is also a part of you too. I apologize for comparing you to others. Even while you were on stage half-naked and moaning to a theater full of people to love their bodies yet you still don’t yourself. And I’m sorry for being a hypocrite. I’m partially sorry for making you eat too many Hot Cheetos even after the doctor told you not to. For letting them stop you from singing even though your soul loves it. For being too stubborn to accept you need help. For not fighting for what your heart wanted four years ago. For staring a bit too long in the mirror at your thighs, for using make-up not even in your skin color to hide the bags under your eyes, and for giving in and making an appointment with the dermatologist. I’m sorry for putting other bodies’ needs before yours. I’m sorry that even this apology makes a distinction of you, mi cuerpo, and myself. I’m sorry for not fully knowing that we’re the same thing.
My body. What does that mean anyway? To me, it’s the vessel I’ve waged battles against since I can remember. It’s the vessel others have chosen to battle against with fury and violence I’ll never agree with. I have the scars and stories to prove it all. My body is the vessel that carries me through this world. What I mean to say is that my body is the physical embodiment of my surrounding world interpreting me, my learning of those interpretations, and the embodied consequences I have faced. Those consequences aren’t all bad. Joy, love, compassion, pleasure, success, pain. My body is mine. To direct and take care of. To make space for others. To willfully and clumsily attempt to make a difference in the world around me.
-Lydia Emge
by an
letter to the men that broke my body
onym
ous
Dear Justin et al., Having sex with me while i’m blackout drunk is rape. your other 4+ friends each having their way with me, while I’m still blackout drunk, is also rape.
Dear david, I have never been more afraid to have a baby. The fact that you weren’t drunk at all and still penetrated me without a condom, makes me wonder if it was something i did to make you think my body was okay to break.
Dear taylor, Every single time you penetrated me (except twice) was an act of rape. I hope you can see the irony in that.
Dear men that hurt my body, I can’t forgive the scars you’ve fucked into the folds between my thighs. scars that connect us like weak spiderwebs. scars that make me flinch at the thought of touching someone new without the help of liquor. I can’t forgive the way I was fooled to believe that every time i got drunk i set myself up to be assaulted.
Dear Men that hurt my body, i hope you read this and grow scared that this is about you. i hope you’re afraid that this will smear your 'good’ name and reputation. I hope your body starts to break - just as you broke mine.
RAG
rag_zine
issuu.com/murag