ruby issue 01: THE FEMALE EXPERIENCE
I am Mother Earth, the Creatrix. I am the Mother of the Cosmos, the High Priestess. The gateway to God lies between my towering pillars of ecstatic surrender. The scarlet brine that flows from my sacred temple is an ever-nourishing spring of esoteric wisdom. My elixirs, furiously coursing through my beating temple, are the nectars of eternal life. Part the Red Sea, and dissolve into your Dark Mother. Drink from me, for I am the Fountain of Youth. Feed on my ripe fruits, for my womanhood is your source of life. Disseminate into me, for I am the ever-burning fire that ravages your ravenous soul. Lose yourself in the Womb of the World; You are mine to devour. Within me, you disintegrate to reemerge. I am She who gives you life; I am She who gives you death. I am the Maiden, the Waxing Moon. I am the Mother, the Full Moon. I am the Enchantress, the Waning Moon. I am the Crone, the Dark Moon. I am the Sacred Whore, the Holy Harlot. I am the Seer, the Illuminator. I am the Dark Goddess, the Veiled Mother of Mystery. I am the Great Giver and the Great Receiver. I am the Daughter of Dawn and the Mother of Dusk. I am the Shekinah. I am Shakti. I am Woman.
"I AM WOMAN" Rebecca DeLeo
"PerĂodo"
Guillermina Roburu
"Ichor"
Lindsay Russell (Batch)
"Michelle"
Emma Fuchs
"Glass Ribs." (Journal Entry #34. 11/13/16) E Try telling a little girl that she?s beautiful. She?ll smile, twirl her brown hair and with a flourish, tell you that she ?knows she is.? Her parent?s friends will laugh; her mother, embarrassed, will tell her to ?stop that! Be modest!? But it seems, now, to be such a pointless, silly act- trying to quell such an innocent self-appreciation. Instead, her mother should have told her to never stop loving herself; because try telling that same little girl that she is beautiful 10 years later. You can?t. She?ll look at you like you?re crazy. She?ll grab at the layer of fat underneath her chin, where a beautiful birth mark goes unnoticed (a defining feature that one day someone will undoubtedly find sexy and kiss everytime he holds her), and wish that she could wake up the next morning: ribbed waist, high cheekbones - a Hollywood consumerist beauty. Try telling that same little girl that she?s beautiful and that she?s not defined by a number on a scale and she?ll laugh in your face. Because after 10 years of scrutinization from the one who carried her in her belly for 9 months and 10 years of loathing from the eyes in the cracked mirror, it seems like a senseless act - trying to dig that little girl, that loved herself, out from underneath years of insecurity and torn up scraps of plastered smiles and tiny waists from Vogue magazine. And then, when, it?s all become just too much, the solution seems pretty simple. So she stops eating. She stops eating so that she finally has the power over that mirror. And then she?s still not eating because power positions have transferred themselves, unconsenting, to the ribs that poke through skin (a concept that once seemed impossible to her.) And then, it?s happened. She?s given into the mass media, and to those contemptuous maternal eyes. And yes, she is beautiful.
Hollywood?s best seller. But now her father cries for that little girl with the brown hair, and her mother cries because she just wants to know just?what could have gone wrong?? And the little girl stares back through glassy eyes and she can?t tell if they?re happy tears or sad tears, but she doesn?t care because you can see ribs and that makes her happy? .or maybe she just thinks that she?s happy because the mirror smiles, and the lines between what she once wanted and what the camera wants have since blurred, and in fact, now that it?s mentioned, she can?t even remember the last time they were truly defined (like the lines, newly prominent, on her cheeks.) And maybe it?s not happiness at all, that she feels, but somewhere warm between relief and content ? . and maybe a little bit hungry even? .No! Hunger doesn?t exist. She?s beautiful and that?s all that happiness is today, isn?t? Wasn?t that the whole point? Beauty is power and power is ribs and ribs are happiness. So now try telling the girl that she?s beautiful in a white gown that doesn?t close in the back and a tube down her throat. Try telling her that she?s happy because she has a proud ribcage and high cheekbones and the beauty mark under her chin is no longer accompanied by a layer of fat. It?s okay! Go on. Tell me I?m beautiful. And with a twirl of my brown hair and a half beautiful, half miserable smile, I?ll look down, touch my ribs, and with a flourish I?ll say, ?I know.?
"OnceMonthly" Helen Laser
"Empowerment" JulieYoung "FeelingFree" JulieYoung
"TheSkinny" Sarah Reniers
"Oneand Done" Alyssa Shugayev The arrangement is intimate and honest when overlooking the nature of its foundation. A beginning, middle, and end within a few short hours. The wall of inhibition and uncertainty was never constructed. I solicit an invitation in the dark, for you?ve liberated what one usually withdraws in conversations with strangers. My intuition proceeds me and approves my hasty actions. She is complicit, though glances throughout the night verified her desire for involvement. Her arm around my waist feels heavier with each second that slumber disperses from me. I?m reminded that I?ve stayed. I?m reminded that I must leave. I?ll allot myself a handful of days to contrive a collection of positive eventualities. I will write and read you into oblivion, inviting all odds to rival against me. As they always do. This way, we can avoid having to entrap what isn?t there, suspending the inevitable.
ChloeCuthill Hutton
Emily Ruth Taylor
there is a disconnect here between the blood in my veins and sheets do you think she would like me if i wore makeup? do you think she will leave me when she finds out i don?t shave? what matters? i don?t feel it. i don?t see it. i don?t get it.
deathhairball
ChloeCuthill Hutton
Out shoots baby into a binary storm poor lil bub wasn?t even warned of the possible consequences of F on the forms birth certificate way too often a boy girl award. ?Babe, here you are, get ready for this life, it?s your being they are weirdly excited to define. Your body can be numbered, chained up or weighed down, outside of the womb they?ll really take you to town" See, you can do things to a body you can?t do to a soul It is a presence you don?t get to write to Santa for - not that that stopped me trying: Six years old, ?Dear Santa, I?ve been really good this year. I like trucks and I want to be a boy now, it seems more fun plus I?m the best at ripper rugby and Dad won?t let me play if I?m still a girl next term.? Santa wasn?t magical enough but he felt pretty holy to me the Ash Wednesday prayer I slipped into the flame was ?Jesus, I want to be cool as you, can I give up being a girl for lent?? I learned that when you break boy girl rules it doesn?t matter how much of an ash cross you have on your six year old forehead it doesn?t matter how many ticks are on your hundred percent spelling test people in this world will mark you ?wrong? Baby know it?s the labels that we use that are broken, know they don?t need to be Fixed. Two words upon arrival: Question everything Grow as chaotic as you love to be, I know you?ll challenge enough authority, make sure you challenge your own. Looking into your eyes I see clouds of unknown a forest fire ready to alight all possibilities. The hurricane has been born into every part of you and like all great storms, it will pay no pity to man made borders.
"On acceptingyouhavea body (alive, your own) " Charlie, Aotearoa (2014)
One day you?ll know me I am the girl in the back of the class And the next day up front I change from place to place Because I am a bride of the military I?ll change my taste everyday As what I once liked goes stale Because I have a mind made up Of nothing at all I?ll come on too strong And I will fight for myself Because every battle I live Will make my mouth a gun Stuck on rapid fire Until all at once it explodes And I disappear through the cracks I will do this again And fire my words And raise my voice And make you think ?oh crap? I am not one for holding back It might make you laugh or suddenly gasp I?m not like most girls, If you could even call me that I am myself and to that I sing I am authentically me and I will never look back.
"Loud Mouth" Lora Raleigh
"Blood Pieces"
Ara Kropp
"Ruth's Poem" l.m. There?s a dejection in her eyes Her once spotless windows have been smudged by sticky fingers A lingering kind sadness seeps within her It conspires to infiltrate every pore of her body The wall she spent years building is slowly Coming undone Her love is as deep as the ocean and yet, Her heart is left polluted by their selfish ways A rose with thorns Her own fingers have been pricked by beautiful things A diamond, a gem of the strongest kind She puts herself together but the cracks remain There?s a world inside of her where the moon has set And the sun never seems to rise Worlds have been introduced to her only to be snatched away The world sits in awe, awaiting for her blossoming Awaiting the ending light at the edge of the tunnel She?s blinded by her past, unable to see She is the light she so desperately craves And yet, with a burden too heavy to bear She carries on
COVER ART by Guillermina Roburu titled "Dolor" created by Brittany Welch @heavymetalgf rubyzine.tumblr.com zine created with lucidpress * background photos from colorfulgradients.tumblr.com