Whiny Femmes, Vol 1

SUMMER 2017 | VOL. 1

WHINY FEMMES

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nice 2 c u here

Once upon a gloomy evening, two young queers stumbled into a dark dive to see a local pop-punk show (you know who you are). We swooned and swayed at the bittersweet (but mostly bitter) melody and dreamed of one day creating our own whiny ballads.

Days later

The two worked, partied, and collaborated together, and they became best femme friends forever, and they didn’t have a care in the world, not even when they couldn’t finish their zine in time (jk we r sry).

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We believe in the importance of femme voices! We believe in queer liberation and intersectional feminism! We believe in a politic that addresses the simultaneity of cis white capitalist colonial heteropatriarchy!

This is a space to honour the multiplicity of femme lived experience and is an attempt to foster a space of sharing, tenderness, resistance, and healing.

When we did our call for submissions in Summer 2016 we asked for themes of rejection, pet peeves, existentialism, and favourite inspirations.

This zine is an opportunity to whine or to speak to the power of whining.

We want to embrace the beauty of complaining as a way to validate the tenderness that is frowned upon and suppressed everyday for femme folks (& femmes at the intersection of multiple oppressions).

It is notoriously difficult to pin down a definition of femme identity.

However, we feel that attempts at such definition should keep the meaning of the term ambiguous, fluid, and up to one’s own interpretation.

Femmes are not always women. Femme identity does not belong to cis lesbians & queer women, and it definitely does not belong to The Hets. Femme is a queer gender identity. Femme is not necessarily counter to Butch.

Femme is not just about feminine expression. Femme does not operate on a binary.

Femme is a QUEER identity that has deep roots in queer communities. We don’t feel like femme identity is static.

While many people explicitly identify as femme, femmeness can also be a part of anyone’s queer experience.

In the introduction to the anthology, Persistence: All Ways Butch and Femme, editors Ivan E. Coyote and Zena Sharman quote Audre Lorde: “When we define ourselves, when I define myself, the place in which I am like you and the place in which I am not like you, I’m not excluding you from the joining—I’m broadening the joining.” Coyote and Sharman add that they hope the book will broaden the joining. Likewise, we know that this collection of art and writing will provide some relatable content, and when you do find a mismatch between the page and your experience, we invite you to create your own meanings of femmeness, fill in the gaps, and acknowledge the abundance of possibilities that exist.

This is a place of vulnerability where our contributors have shared their stories, fears, feels, and advice. Let this be a zine of growing and crying and exploring. Let this zine affirm the importance of whining and being whined to!

Whining is absolutely essential and it can look like: rolling your eyes, clenching your jaw, deep sighing, crying, cussing, pouting, venting to your friends, allowing yourself to be unproductive, saying no, saying fuck off, listening to moody tunes, spending time alone, speaking truth to power, calling in and calling out behaviour, standing up for yourself and others, making art and writing about your experiences, and making your experiences and perspectives known.

We urge you to try to take care as you read. While we have made an effort to encourage authors to include content warnings (CW), it still may not always represent the kind of content that is difficult for you to engage with.

Luv & solidarity forever xoxoxoxoxoxoxox jules & xtina PLEASE DO NOT DUPLICATE THIS ZINE WITHOUT OUR CONSENT. ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO THE ORIGINAL CREATORS & CONTRIBUTORS. CONTACT EDITORS (CHRISTINA HAJJAR & JULES HARDY) @ whinyfemmes@gmail.com.

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Contents 6 7 7 8 9 10 11 11 12 12 13 14 15 16 18 19 21 21 22 24 25 26 24 27 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34

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bitching as a revolutionary political praxis...................................................................................karina killjoy teenage millionaire.............................................................................................................................* VINNIE * christmas 2014.....................................................................................................................................* VINNIE * Untitled images...............................................................................................................................Alyssa Hourie Why Every Femme Needs Another Fierce Femme Warrior.......................................Vanessa Rochelle Lewis Notes from the Precariat..................................................................................................................Aisha Nalani Relapse II........................................................................................................................................Alyssa Cooper Alphabet Soup................................................................................................................................Alyssa Cooper Can I Get Some Empathy..................................................................................................................Ulice Miel Work Sux............................................................................................................................................Ulice Miel panicland; part one...................................................................................................................Kelly Campbell Untitled.............................................................................................................................................Jada Marsden Sometimes, I need to complain...........................................................................................................Meg Crane (not) for a queer disabled masc who owes me..............................................................................Kayla Rosen Untitled...................................................................................................................................femme dâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;argento Untitled...........................................................................................................................................Anonymous <3 Brown Survival Tactics <3.........................................................................................................Jolene Jolene doodlez...............................................................................................................................................dylan carr Untitled images..........................................................................................................................................tunde =greer girls=.................................................................................................................................Wren Camellia lumniscate jerk..............................................................................................................................Wren Camellia Untitled.........................................................................................................................................................Katian doodlez....................................................................................................................................................dylan carr When Mosquitoes are given Pencils..........................................................................................Rebecca Chess Can You Not?......................................................................................................................................Jen Smith love poem for vince.......................................................................................................................Annie Baldwin SORRY OBAASAN............................................................................................................Karlene Ooto-Stubbs Untitled memes.............................................................................................................................femme4memes emo dykes; sadsterbating.................................................................................................................................jules a Star Wars Story in two movements..........................................................................................Paisley Conrad Untitled image...............................................................................................................................................tunde doodlez....................................................................................................................................................dylan carr

34 35 35 36 37 37 38 40 41 42 43 44 46 47 48 48 49 50 52 53 54 54 55 56 58 60 64 66 69 70 70 71 74

Little Things.............................................................................................................................................Jen Smith Sing Along Songs..............................................................................................................................Alyssa Cooper Untitled image...................................................................................................................................Alyssa Hourie complaints about hot crush; the “queer feminist” dance party..........................................................anna marie UNEMPLOYABLE...................................................................................................................................Jen Smith Untitled..................................................................................................................................................................bre we will not hide..........................................................................................................................Tiana Northage Worship a Virgo, Save the World..............................................................................................Ciel-Sainte-Marie Untitled image...................................................................................................................................Alyssa Hourie Fuck Operation Northern Spotlight....................................................................................................Anonymous uh huh, uh huh (that’s just the way it is)............................................................................andrea kontonicolor a cheesy song for somebody // community gone bad...............................................................................AlpineT Si algo me sucediera (if something happened to me)................................................................Denise Longoria RIVOLUTION IS NOT FOR ALL..............................................................................................Denise Longoria Untitled magnet poetry....................................................................................................................Jacq Pelland Untitled..................................................................................................................................Meaghan Ellen Kelly spring......................................................................................................................................................* VINNIE * Untitled.............................................................................................................................................Leah Erenberg Untitled images............................................................................................................................................C-Wing 11.12.16....................................................................................................................................................Ulice Miel “Blackwave” by Michelle Tea...................................................................................................................Jess Lukie Untitled image...................................................................................................................................Alyssa Hourie On welfare, disability, and queerness................................................................................................Dylan Pickle Untitled.................................................................................................................................................................Feo Bite Your Tonque..........................................................................................................................Vanessa Godden Chimera Collaberation....................................................................................Melissa Tran & Vanessa Godden there’s a lot of stuff faked by god.......................................................................................................janis maudlin Untitled..........................................................................................................................................Adrienne Yeung Untitled images.................................................................................................................................Lauren Clavet Untitled magnet poetry................................................................................................................Kathleen Bergen Untitled memes...............................................................................................................................femme4memes EAT UR WHINY HEART OUT: resources for u tenderqueers................................................Christina Hajjar CripCareCards.......................................................................................................................................Kate Welsh

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bitching as a revolutionary political praxis content warning: r*pe culture, femmephobia, trauma. people say i’m like, sooooo “sensitive”, whatever that means. like i get upset or angry or have feelings too easily, too often, too much. femmes are always too much, ya know? i know so many femmes who struggle with this harmful & totally untrue perception that their existence, their lives, their bodies, their femme selves are “too much”. so yeah, people call me “too sensitive” like alllll the time. maybe it’s because i’m a r*pe survivor & i refuse to be complicit in my silencing; because i demand healing justice because i know i deserve it; because i still get triggered by reminders of my r*pe & i hold folks accountable to creating safer & accessible spaces for survivors; because no, i don’t think r*pe jokes are funny & i’m not going to give you a fake & uncomfortable laugh, i’m going to tell you what you just “joked” about is harmful & a manifestation of rape culture; because i don’t think “jokes” about being triggered are funny or that we should ignore it when folks blame & shame victims or talk about sexual violence in ways that perpetuate r*pe culture because this is not a joke or an abstract fucking concept to me, this is my LIFE as a trauma survivor who is constantly trying to hold it together for just one more day. like many femmes, i am told i’m “too much” because of this. that my trauma & the ways in which i try to hold space for & heal from it are “too intense”. but how can you judge my healing process while i’m being systemically denied access to the resources i need to recover from this? & when, in many cases, the support i need doesn’t even exist in our culture or structures in the first place? i’m tired. i’m tired of the highly specific performance of survivorship required to be seen & loved & cared for. i’m tired of this spectacle of the “good survivor”, the survivor who must be gendered, racialized, & classed in all the “right” ways & how our personalities, actions, & reactions to sexual violence must fit into this suffocating & impossible narrative just so that one may be deemed deserving of justice & healing within the confines of our white supremacist, classist, heteropatriarchal, capitalist, ableist, r*pe culture. i saw a bumper sticker the other day. it said “quit bitching, start a revolution”. for those of us who have been denied voices, whose communication has been trivialized & marked as “gossip” or “whining” or whatever, whose experiences & stories aren’t even listened to in the first place, & for those of us whose powerful activism fueled by this fire is ignored & erased, BITCHING IS THE REVOLUTION karina killjoy is a radical librarian & archivist who loves unicorns, writing zines, & their three cats; you can find them on instagram @femmefilth.

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teenage millionaire: we live hard times but you can still choose between despair or being the coolest tramp of the whole dump

christmas 2014: my friend mary claimed to be pregnant with jesus as for my friend mary, in that beautiful christmas time she was a demonstration of how absurd, though sometimes funny, consequences await us when we indulge in irrationality, when we trust unproven statements or just drink too much martini. * VINNIE *, grown up among the stars, in mission on earth looking for light and truth, beauty and love, vegan dark chocolate almond cakes and golden panties. or both. light has no gender.

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Alyssa Hourie is a Winnipeg artist who works with multiple mediums, but is best known for her work with ink on paper.

Why Every Femme Needs Another Fierce Femme Warrior (Originally posted on BlackLesbianLoveLab) Dear Baby Femme, The brain is spongy and the world is toxic. Sometimes, when times are hard, you might absorb pain so covert and foul, you start to think it’s you–your voice, your ideas, your energy. It’s not! But it’s damn near impossible to fight on your own–no matter how fierce of a warrior you are.

So surround yourself with other fierce femme warriors who will carry mirrors way stronger than any demon clinging to your shoulders, who will remind you how brilliant and loved and dynamic you are no matter how much you fight it, who you trust to lay hands and words and magic and love on you to help you exorcise the demons out, even if that exorcism takes weeks and months.

Choose femmes who will make time for you. Those who will knock on your door when they don’t see you, who will ask you if they can make care-teams on your behalf, who will go with you to the ocean or the lake, who will exercise, dance, sing, laugh and cry with you; who will go with you to your doctor or your therapist when lethargy or agoraphobia has taken over, who will crack jokes with you about your crazy, who you don’t have to perform “sanity” for, who you can process your exes with years later, who you can be emotionally naked with.

Choose femmes who treat you like your healthiest imagination of family, love and friendship.

Choose femmes who you can listen to when they give you difficult feedback, when they hold your hand and tell you you’re wrong, when they put up boundaries for their own self-care and well being, when they call you in or tell you that you have hurt them, when they ask you those vulnerable questions you’ve been avoiding answering for yourself.

Sometimes, for some of us, conflict is the greatest indicator of trust and love. So choose femmes who you would do the same for, who you would go to battle for, who you can caretake without feeling exhausted, who honors your time and boundaries, who understands the word ‘no,’ who can listen when you say, ‘Ouch,” who won’t treat you like a resource, who won’t gaslight or blame you, who won’t be dishonest with you, who won’t make you feel like where you are or how you feel are too heavy.

Choose your femmes like you are choosing your tomorrow. You deserve the absolute best in friendship, in intimacy, in connection, in love, and in queer family. We need each other.

Vanessa Rochelle Lewis (www.jezebeldelilahx.com) is a queer, lush-bodied, Black, femme performance artist, writer, actress, filmmaker, educator, Faerie Queen Mermaid Gangsta for The Revolution, and senior editor for everydayfeminism.com.

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Notes from the Precariat

The art world, being paradoxical, confused and invested with varying interests, pulls in conservative, shitty directions.

Every time I open my trap at art school, I make a few more enemies.

No patience. No filter in the milieu.

I’m tired and cranky; critical of the idea visual art is this abstract social good.

I wanted to feed some starving children so I went and looked at art for 25 minutes— some very labial orchids (more Kleenex box art) trivial and banal.

Don’t you want to look at great modernist paintings while waiting to have shards of glass pulled out of your face?

When it’s good, baby, it’ll knock yer socks off … Seriously.

I LOVE art when it’s great, but in an emergency, I will be asking for a nurse, not a conceptual artist or hyper realistic painting; some sort of progressive ‘thing’ that trickles down, or maybe horizontally flows …

Everything is a big hoax. The truth is a fucking lie.

The super wealthy have all the pull, and the children of celebrities get training from the cradle.

Access to its higher echelons is like a lottery.

Precarity of the lower levels reinforces intense competition and individualism: the need to protect one’s territory.

We are such funny animals.

You gotta pay for your ticket, but the flight might just be overbooked, or turns into a plastic wagon missing a wheel.

03/16/14

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Aisha Nalani

Relapse II I feel like Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m slipping again, tumbling down the rabbit hole.

A tightness, in my chest, a vice on my head, a fog, eating away my warmth, leaving me not cold, not numb, just nothing.

The weight of my life on my shoulders is forcing me into the earth.

I bear the burden of Atlas, and I am bowing under the weight.

Everything inside is getting smaller, and smaller; I am reduced to a pinhead, a spark,

a grain of sand.

As if I will explode outward, rupture, give birth to a universe, and leave my body behind.

There is a maelstrom where my heart once was, a spinning churning void, that cannot possibly bear life.

I am scared of this feeling, this familiar, forgotten, feeling.

I am scared, and I am lost, and I cannot trust my traitorous hands.

Alphabet Soup Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s nothing left but words.

I have so many, and none of them fit together.

Alyssa Cooper is a Canadian author, poet, and artist, currently living in Kingston, Ontario with her partner, two cats, and a Boston Terrier.

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Can I Get Some Empathy CW: Abusive behavior, body pain, medical industrial complex I’m someone who has periodic joint pain. It can be pretty bad and I haven’t found any guaranteed pain relief.

My joint pain isn’t the only health issue I live with and it’s annoying when others attempt to tell me what choice to make for my health when they don’t have to live with the outcome. Usually those choices are around taking pharmaceuticals versus herbs/food based treatment, blah blah. It sucks how bodies and listening to our bodies and advocating for our bodies is another aspect to police and dismiss. Here is a story about how my whining wasn’t respected: This one night I was at an (ex) lover’s apartment at night and my joint pain was flaring. They were sitting at their art table talking about their coworkers and I was on the floor attempting to stretch out the leg muscles around my joints. It really wasn’t helping. I really just wanted to cuddle and go to sleep.

I interrupted my lover to tell them this. They sneered back at me “Awwww your poor leg hurts. You think I don’t have pain? I am on my feet all day!” (I am not remembering their exact words). It was so shocking to be talked to like that! I felt real mad and hurt. I tried to argue and convince them not to talk to me like that. We got into a shitty fight and I left that relationship pretty much that night.

Work sux It takes me an hour and a half to get to work. I am getting more and more sick if it. Sitting on the BART train for so long is like a mobile doctors waiting room. I know eventually I will be seen (on my way to this beige job) but the diagnosis is variable.

I cry to my dates and friends about not wanting to go to work. I say it in a high pitched kids voice: “I don wanna go to work! I don wanna! I don wanna wear office clothes! I don wanna to be a grown up!” It feels silly and truly conveys how much I feel like compulsory to this job.

Sometimes I scold myself for complaining about work when other people are broke and desperate as fuck. Then I remind that voice that capitalism is hurting all of us. Many have it worse.

Ulice Miel is a nonbinary witch dreamboat living in the suburb city of Fremont in the San Francisco Bay Area.

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Kelly Campbell (AKA Grub) spends most of their time feeling feelings, hating the state, and trying to stay alive.

In between these activities, they sometimes find time to make art in the form of drawings, music, installation, and sculpture. Their flesh prison can be found in Winnipeg 60-80% of the time.

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cw: body dysmorphia, self-hate This is one of my favorite photos of myself from 2016. I think I look beautiful in it, the way my eyebrows arch, my gaze into the camera, the shape of my lips.

Intellectually, I know this is me, it looks like me.

And yet my brain keeps trying to convince me that it isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t me. It reminds me that I have a double chin, wide nose, puffy cheeks, dark circles and hooded eyelids.

The loudest voice in my head tells me that this is all anyone can see in real life. When they look at me in person, they see how manufactured this image is, how different I look with no makeup, how I tricked their eyes into thinking I was beautiful.

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In reality, this is probably not what they are thinking and more a projection of my own self-hatred.

I often think to myself, if I were thinner, I would be beautiful enough to be loved. If I were whiter, I could deserve to dream. If I were less femme, less sensitive, less emotional, I would finally belong in this world and feel safe.

But in some moments, I see myself resist this narrative. The one that says that I am just a collection of flaws to hide or change. That I am only the parts of myself that I’ve been told to hate.

I don’t want to see beauty and not recognize myself in it anymore.

I want to take a photo of myself and see all of the value I’ve added to people’s lives, the things I stand for, the things I’ve gone through and made it out of, the inherent beauty of being a mixed queer femme of color in this world, the profound uniqueness of being alive and being me.

Jada Marsden: Mixed queer femme of color living in Seattle, WA

Sometimes, I need to complain.

I know I need to less frequently and focus more on the positive, for my own mental health, but sometimes I just need a few minutes to wildly complain, to curse and yell and maybe even throw something. Sometimes, I just need to get some of my fury out before I can calmly and tactfully deal with someone who’s being a real piece.

If you get in my way, my anger may be redirected towards you. And I’m so done apologizing for that because you deserve it. When a friend betrays my trust, I’m allowed to vent for a couple of minutes before calling them up to call them out. Don’t fucking tell me to think of all the other ways they’ve been a good friend. Don’t you dare try to refocus my thoughts on the good friends I have. Don’t even think about reminding me of the box of vegan Pop-Tarts in my cupboard or put a cute cat on my lap in an attempt to see me smile.

My anger is valid. My anger is allowed. My anger is necessary.

Let me fucking complain.

Meg Crane is a freelance writer and editor.

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(not) for a queer disabled masc who owes me I’m sick of disabled men and mascs and their exploitation of my emotional and artistic labor.

I hate even more that I’ve cared about them in ways that aren’t usually counted as labor but were still a waste of my energy. I want to take back every positive thing I’ve felt for you, even the ones I never shared back in the first place.

I want to take back what’s mine, to snatch it back so hard it’s like you never had it at all. I want to gather what you’ve left me with and leave it in a rotting cardboard box on your curbside. I want to watch as the bottom gives out and you’re left to clean up your own shit for once.

Give me back my excitement when I heard you introduced with they/them pronouns.

Give me back the joy of hearing you talk openly and consensually about your queer disabled sexuality when mine was so newly re-emergent and fragile.

Give me back every time I googled the hanky you were flagging and every time I liked what I found.

Give me back all the floral and sparkle and blushing emojis I sent my friends after I asked you if your relationship was open and you wanted to go out sometime and you said yes.

You can take the anxiety attack I had after you changed your mind with no explanation and the hours of scrutinizing myself for the flaw or incompatibility I couldn’t find. Give me back my care to make sure that even talking to you was consensual after that. You can take your reassurance that everything was fine, so I can stick to my original plan of leaving it up to you to arrange any future hang-outs and nip this weed in the bud.

Give me back my belief that we could work as friends. You didn’t kill our friendship with romantic rejection; you let me plant in soil salted with your apathy.

Give me back all your copies of my zines, especially my very first. Give me back the trust I had in you that made me think you deserved one of the two test copies, the ones I printed before I was sure I could even do this, before I settled on a cover or a title, when I claimed authorship under my legal name. (The femme who has the other first copy is infinitely more deserving.) Give me back my artistry, my honesty, my vulnerability. Pay me twice the standard rate or give back all the physical copies along with your memories of them.

Give me back my time the day I hung out with you even though your slow texting got in the way of planning my long commute. Take my disappointment when I got to the coffee shop and you were there with another friend

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you hadn’t mentioned, both working on job applications. Give me back my feedback on your cover letter and my praise for it.

Your femme friend started crying and asked me to step out. On the walk to your place after you two had finished talking and parted, you told me she felt undersupported by you, and it was difficult for you. I validated your feelings without invalidating hers. Give me back that conversation and everything after it so I can tell you she was right about everything and ditch you to bond with her over our femme disappointment. Let me join her in the cafe without you instead of monitoring myself for signs of Too Muchness as I lay in your bed and thought about the richness of your hazel eyes in the afternoon sun that shone through your blinds.

Give me back the few times we did hang out and all the months you never made time for me. Take my worry that I’m tolerable at best and give me back the fastidious managing of my emotions it took to ask you if you really wanted to be friends. Take back your “yes”; take everything that’s in name only.

Give me back my hours spent volunteering at your sister’s fundraising dinner, and keep the spot at your table I had to ask for because you didn’t even offer. Take my social anxiety when I tried to get reassigned to your table but got the number wrong and got stuck eating the first several courses with a family of strangers.

Give me back the full-back patch I sewed for you and all the hours and thread it took to embroider it. Give me back all the compliments you’ve gotten, because your work was saying, “I’d like a patch that says ‘tenderqueer’” and mine was volunteering to make it, designing it, gathering materials, and embroidering it. You think you’re tender, but you’re not. You’re sensitive enough to foist your anxiety on femmes, but not sensitive enough to hold

any of ours in return. Give me back my sea otter iconography. Give me back my attention to which way your hair swoops and which side your nose ring is on. Give me back my contribution to your aesthetic. You can forget about sending me the photo of my work I asked for, because now I’d rather just rip it apart stitch by stitch.

Give me your place in the group photo with people I love.

Give me an explanation for why you publicly seem to support other femmes. Which ones do you like? The thinner ones, the more compromising ones, the ones you want to fuck? You know what? Take your explanation, because I don’t believe you treat them well, either, when no one’s watching.

Take the last traces of excitement that prop up my expectations for you, and I’ll weigh down some more fitting dull dread with the disappointment you trail.

I’m done settling for you, so settle your bill and get out.

Kayla Rosen is a white bi disabled nonbinary zinester from Seattle. kaylarosenzines.com

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I spent October in the bathtub because:

- somehow I’m always sick

- I still can’t find a job

- my body aches

- I can’t share my feelings with anyone

- I was rejected by a friend because I wanted to be friends and he

wanted to fuck I’ll spend December in the bathtub because:

- my body continues to turn on me

- everything feels hopeless

- self-isolation is one of my two working strategies

- people seem intent on burning everything to the ground

- and they don’t care who disappears in the process

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femme d’argento

Untitled I sometimes like dating, I mean, I like interacting with people, I like flirting. I like the spontaneous intimacy that forms between two strangers drawn together by chemistry and pheromones. I LOVE having sex. If it’s really good sex I will make all the time and space for it. I will make all the time and space for it to be as rowdy and uninhibited and fun and gratifying as possible. I really don’t make much of an effort to date though, I really don’t find that part rewarding most of the time. I love my jobs and my projects and my friends and the activism I am connected to. When I consider going on dates with folks and trying to honestly pursue romance, I usually get pretty deflated because I can think of a million other ways I’d rather spend my time.

As most people know, when you’re in the company of a couple that is just drowning themselves in each other, it can become unbearable no matter how PDA friendly and sex positive you are. Especially if you’re like me: you’re feeling good about the body you’ve got, ready to ask for the sex you want, eager to give someone else pleasure in a way that feels right for them, curious and turned on by all the sexy humans in the world, and all the kinky things you could be doing with them. YOU WANT IT BAAAAAAAAAD. Recently, I found myself on a road trip through Iceland with a couple, smack dab in the middle of their intense 2 month old relationship, but, like, not in a hot way. In a walking around visiting waterfalls by myself while they fondled each other 20 metres away getting all turned on by the spectacular view kinda way. The only escape I could access was in my mind.

In the past several years I’ve been getting really into writing erotica, either about/for lovers or as a way to explore fantasies, but on this one particular day I thought “Fuck that. This is about me and this is for me.”

When I’m lying in bed, Face down, I realize how soft the skin inside my bicep is.

I brush my lips against it, part them slightly and exhale to feel the warmth of my breath.

With my eyes closed I see all the faces of people I’ve fucked, lips I’ve sucked on, all the people whose bodies I’ve dreamed of rubbing up against.

I open my eyes and see myself, the only constant sex partner I’ve had.

A lay I can rely on.

When I was young, the other girls I knew would talk about masturbation like the dirtiest, most shameful act they could think of.

There was no sense that we, as women, deserved pleasure unless it was given to us.

Like a box we’ve never opened but are pretty sure that whatever is inside is a gift.

I unwrap myself.

My fingers pull away at the seams of my clothes.

Hook one finger under the collar of my tshirt and pull it over my head.

The temporary blinded bewilderment of hair over my face, arm caught in the sleeve.

Anticipation for what bare skin on clean sheets feels like.

Flipped on my back I slide my fingers under the elastic of my thigh high socks and pull them off slowly.

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Feel that sweet relief of a restrictive garment removed.

Run my hand along my furry shin.

Lying on my back in just the panties I feel good in I give myself a great big hug.

I thank my limbs and tender flesh for the places they carry me and the sensations they transmit.

Foreplay can be like a kind of worship that a lover gives you. Where their exploration and reverence for your form stands each nerve on end. Here in my solitude and with the insight of my many years, a past full of lovers, I am discovering another way to nurture my pleasure. It’s like sparking a light in a deep crevice where no one else's hands can reach.

I cup my breast to feel it’s plumpness. softness and simultaneous firmness the thin skin underneath the sensitive wrinkles around the nipple squeeze, twist, grip pull out my favourite dildo, trusty lube. breathe on my hand to warm it up. insert slowly to feel the softness inside respond to the sensation of fullness go slow. in & out. broad circular motions. bend my body, shift my legs to get a better vantage point. to rub on my swollen clit with my other hand. hips swivel to accept and release. speed up, slow down. reach the edge, back off and build momentum bated breath and condensation on my forearm as I press my pillowy lips against it stifle my breath to reach a higher plane of exhilaration. tug at my hair and feel the tingles spreading from behind my belly button. there is a shining heat that spreads behind my eyes. there is a sense that in this moment the edges of my body melt away and I feel every cell sparkle as it commingles with dust particles, sun rays and warm breezes.

I’m swallowed up and shrink to the size of a pinprick.

Here in the smallness of my existence, crashed back upon the shores of self-awareness I can breathe again.

Gently fumble for the edges of ribbon that I loop into a bow and pull tight.

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Anonymous

<3 Brown Survival Tactics <3

Jolene Jolene

<3 eyerolling <3 lip biting <3 shade throwing <3 teeth sucking <3 gum popping <3 rock and rolling <3 self stimming <3 ex hexing <3 ass shaking <3 foot stomping (foot stompin, foot stompin, a good time) <3 body modding <3 side eyeing

dylan carr: @toastinbed

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tunde: angry baby with tears in eyes at all times a quack

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=greer girls=

(half mined from internet reviews of The Female Eunuch by Germain Greer, half from reviews of Gilmore girls) Disappointing. Did not live up to the hype.

It’s slow with little direction In such disarray … she basically gave up on what she worked so hard for It’s intelligent, creative, and sophisticated in an everyday way You just have to be interested in intellectual banter But she dilutes that attack by being swayed by her own righteous indignation Out the window, and all just because she was so salty I CANT. Just for the record, I’m not a feminist. I was. I’ve gone past that I could give you a dozen examples of where it simply fell short However, I learnt one thing: women’s freedom consists of NOT choosing to read feminist literature too If Jane Austen were alive today, she’d be writing this She, rather, prefers the white bread version of feminism itself.

Talk of women breaking through the glass ceiling only to settle.

Fighting for equality only to go to college to STILL shop for husbands Can be brilliant, can be infuriating.

She can shine and she can let herself down horribly She has her own thoughts and ideas according to which she leads her life, at a time evenhandedly taking over an entire household keeping a good career front and a high social life with her friends and acquaintances Saw far more criticism on women than men - perhaps because it’s obvious where men need to be criticised and more difficult to articulate the ways in which women have hindered their own liberation It’s a little twee for my taste, which can be grating, but that’s far outweighed by the genius depiction of the complexity of human relationships.

Women irrespective to their economical standing bear subjugation to various norms Believable “men act this way, women are made to act this way”, it’s tiring and not insightful enough for me to continue.

If you can’t do it right, why did you do it?

So much filler crap for something that needed to be packed full of raw Was fascinating and made me rethink being a woman.

It deals with the suppression of the female intellect There’s no freaky man-hating You don’t have to be perfect from the start but you have to be willing to listen and learn Cuts through our absurdly patriarchal fantasies of romantic love, diagnosing the misery and anxiety they cause, and draws a picture of the female stereotype

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=lemniscate-jerk= (note: i wrote the following in 2013, sometime before november. rediscovered in a fb memory a few weeks agoâ&#x20AC;Ś that existential angst is relentless) enthusiastic submission to nearly euphoric suffering sacrilegious, lifeless liturgy of labor colonial masters' deadweight discipline atheistic aesthetic manifest in cold, cold monster states martyr syndrome masturbation of egos; release from liberty we hate poetry. create that which destroys you; i'll build what destroys me martyr is a sexy wordâ&#x20AC;Ś don't we all want to live always? reincarnated in legends of the sci-fi future, or more likely; reincarcerated in next generation judgement so inclined to say "fuck it all" pull out carefully selected jenga blocks watch things crumble drink cheap whiskey from a flask to try not living in the past these corrupted, idolatrous ideologies all look uncomfortably like jesus to me

Wren Camellia (wpg) is gay af and they donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t rly do much of anything tbh

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-Being- in Mexico City unchains reactions of our surrounding.

Catholicism numbs the mind and puts walls between siblings.

The body is free.

Patrona Need yer protection pls Katian; MĂŠxico 2016.

dylan carr

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When Mosquitos are given Pencils “How could I have had a bad weekend?

I was with my two favourite people in the world, My sister and my Daughter!”

The words rush through my ears and reverberate in my veins.

Your pseudo-closeness and my genuine-distance, Sting like mosquito bites And swell And itch like them too; I can’t stop scratching but You were always good at ignoring pain.

Pretending like nothing has changed Like I am still apart of your ideals, fitting into your perfect square.

I stepped outside the line, You just drew me in again.

Your eyes used to look at me with a comforting omnipotence, and now they cut right through, Trying to erase me until My insides are gone and all that is left, Is the outline of your baby girl And I’m still itching the bites.

Rebecca Chess studies English at the University of Toronto, her favourite past times include: setting grandiose goals and never completing them, seeing how long she can go eating nothing but no name cheddar cheese and saltine crackers, and looking at pictures of small animals in knitted clothing.

Jen Smith (@freekissesnyc) is a caregiver, a greenhouse assistant, and a lonely soul.

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love poem for vince when you talked about moving to california or seattle, I thought of not being able to get off the wilson red & cry while eating lukewarm pizza hut breadsticks at target & not being able to call you and come over to see you & that fucking golden retriever & drink your roommate’s coke & laugh at 2am while I think you psychoanalyze me, laugh when you light all the candles in your apartment after I get out of the shower as I joke to myself, “where are the rose petals?” vince, I love you & the ugly t-shirts I steal from you, I love the poetry you write even though you are in your bukowski phase all writers have one even me masturbating to sex scenes in bukowski’s novel “women” was the reason I quit catholic campus ministry. when you looked at me and said, “oh, I know you can do it,” you didn’t hesitate. vince, thank you for being proud of me especially when it’s been so hard for me. thank you for not fucking my ex even when you could have, for taking me to the roof to see the partial city skyline, for rubbing my upper back as I sobbed on your kitchen counter, repeated “it’s wasn’t my fault” over and over again during a flashback. you respect me, you hold me, ask me what a yoni egg is, use pantene shampoo, tell me you still have spiritual experiences even though you are an atheist, tell me about the bad sex you’ve had.

I love the fact that you made two cans of progresso chicken noodle soup for us when you knew I was hungry.

I love the way you took an uberpool to my house even when it was $7.99.

I love our conversations on death. when I die, I want my body to replenish the soil like the praying mantis I buried in my backyard last week.

I want to be burned or buried only by the people who loved me honestly. I want it to be pure. as I live, I want to purify this body, mind, & soul. take out all the violence that never belonged. I want air to rush my lungs & open.

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In this life, I want to open.

I want to love myself the way you love meopen, ready, & unashamed of this body, of the men whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve laid with it.

I want to let you in, cook two cans of soup on the stove, stop questioning if weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll be warm enough.

Annie Baldwin is a spoken word poet driven to tell stories in multiple mediums whether collaboratively or visually through experimental performance & typewritten zines. follow her art journey on instagram @radiantlya.

Karlene Ooto-Stubbs is a 4th generation Japanese-Canadian but feels neither Japanese nor Canadian.

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@femme4memes

sadsterbating a sad story but a tru one

of g kin in th you

i’m fucking exhausted and i need a nap but im also so fucking horny it hurts i rlly dont have the energy to get myself off ugh but i open pornhub anyways i didn’t light candles, but i did put on music to set the mood *kiss me through the phone playing softly in the background* my vibrator (kept in the drawer beside my bed) is a gift from god the soft buzz is soothing finding porn with ~real dykes~ is next to impossible nothing worse than watching some chick finger-fuck someone with 3inch long nails i can never decide if i want to watch the foreplay if i skip ahead i feel as though i missed something??? i skip ahead anyways

i try to edge myself i want to make myself cum soooooo hard edging is kinda boring tho there’s 50 tabs open on my computer and i find myself switching from porn to facebook finally i cum unsatisfied i try to take a nap the end

jules is a whiny taurus who likes to 420 blaze it and cry. catch them on insta @sadtaurus69

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I was waiting for the empire to strike back but it ended up ghosting me: a Star Wars story in two movements please don’t leave me It’s not that I was left at port It’s that i was asked to wait I could have seen the vacuum of the void and the nebulas of the stars and any binary sunset other than this one if I wasn’t stuck watching this landing port I’d much rather have been left on the cusp of a black hole at least then I would have been on the cusp of my own destruction thought of you thought of what it would be to see the void thought of the void didn’t think of you tears cried over alderaan I don’t want to be stuck in place but in space I don’t think I could hit light speed nervous you traced this out for me maps are always incomplete a whole person makes them and inevitably a whole person fucks them up I’m comforted by your scars I know that my skin will never hold quite as much as when your hand were holding it together Paisley Conrad is a student and weather enthusiast from the West Coast, based on the East Coast.

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tunde

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Little Things CW: childhood trauma, violence The stamp in the wrong denomination, (The letter you never got from your sister) The license plate number D739RX The dust kicked up when your sister drove to Texas The faulty X-ray machine that didn’t catch The dark spot on your grandfather’s lung The bag covering The bottle of Fernet in your father’s pocket The plate of spaghetti your father dropped on The new carpet that led to The scar from The ashtray your mother “meant to throw at The wall" These little things They haunt us all Jen Smith

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dylan carr

Sing along songs Humours out of balance; that’s the diagnosis.

An excess of melancholy, a surplus of pain hidden under my skin howling along with my bloodstream.

Black bile, backing up my veins, filling up my lungs; I don’t have enough holes to breathe through.

I’m choking.

I need to open up another mouth; gaping wide and drooling red.

Alyssa Cooper

Alyssa Hourie

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I am a disabled queer feminist and I recently went to the only queer feminist party in the city I live in. I had a fun-ish time with my pals… but… I had some complaints too….

complaints about hot crush; the “queer feminist” dance party: 1. too packed, several people forced to stand on stairs, on ledges near speakers - which they could easily have pushed down onto others. you need a bigger more accessible venue - it just wasn’t accessible, plus the squished number of people their meant it wasn’t really accessible for people who struggle with anxiety and many other physical and mental disabilities.

2. white people with dreadlocks! you can’t purport to have a space that doesnt allow bigotry/dickheads, and then let culturally appropriative white people in at the “door” - obviously its important not to police white-passing black people with dreads so maybe included in your list of people not allowed to come you should specify no white people with dreads?!

3. aggressive [from mostly men] dancing. its scary and unfeminist to have men violently taking up so much space, with their total disregard for accidental violence. near the dj table their was a very tall person with a beard and a hat and they were jumping up and down a lot and bumping into everyone around them - including especially smaller femme people!! (Which is dangerous and harmful) not taking into account anyones safety or comfort and often having to be shoved away so that others dancing could have space and could not have their space infringed on.

4. there was little to no beyonce!!!!!!! this is just plain rude!

5. there weren’t enough female artists played!!! And you played known male abusers? Not cool. Not feminist.

6. there wasn’t a door to ensure that not too many people were on the dance floor at one time - if their was a door it would stop the uncomfortable and unsafe crowding because you could more easily count how many people were in the room at any one point. anna marie is a forever weirdo, autistic femme who has princess hair and loves floral dresses and glitter. it uses they/them or it/its pronouns and regularly blows kisses to the moon.

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Jen Smith

tfw u crash ur car while delivering pizzas for the SECOND FUCKING TIME!!!! hey but at least this time it was only my parents car and not my managerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s!!!

bre is a terrible driver and lives in narol manitoba.

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Tiana Northage is a 20 year old Slam Poet who speaks out about being queer and having mental illness in a modern world.

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Worship a Virgo, Save the World When I learned I was a Venus in Virgo, I drew a deep breath and lit a cigarette... Well it was a joint, actually, but if you were a Venus in Virgo, you’d want something to take the edge off too.

Because Venus in Virgo is perfection. They will cater to your desires as enthusiastically as if they were their very own. They may not jump in with both feet but their detail-oriented approach is their way of building a framework that lets them express themselves more freely. They will learn every inch of your body and those few things that make your voice come undone.

But Venus in Virgo is not the popular kid to the dating party. Growing into their sexuality - they know they want something, and that there’s a path to getting it, but they have to grow into that path. Other signs often shy away from helping them figure out how to get it. If they’re not initially put off by Virgo’s untouchable exterior, they often don’t have the staying power to unravel these ties.

Capricorns are a lusty lot (especially in Mars) that can get the job done and even if Venus in Virgo doesn’t want to admit it, they’ll unbend a bit for a dedicated mindful Leo who will use their warmth well (and can stay interested longer than 5 minutes). Another Virgo is a match made in heaven (!!!), and try as we might to avoid it Pisces can be compelling. Which Virgo doesn’t have the fantasy of sinking into softness and the endless sea of feelings and dreams?

(Okay, but really can I have a life raft cause the lack of boundaries in this Neptunian ocean is starting to make me break out.)

Don’t date a Venus in Virgo if you’re messy. But if you do, take care because Venus in Virgo longs to have their mind silenced and their worries eased away with consistent interest and warmth. And messy dates that are bad ideas break our hearts the most. They find the crack in our shells without any of the hard work and dedication to run the obstacle course we put up.

Don’t date a Venus in Virgo if you’re not in it for the long haul. But if you do, say it directly and clearly. Consult each double V individually but this VV thinks that Venus in Virgo should take the lead on short affairs.

What?

Okay... Venus in Virgo always wants to take the lead. ...unless it’s time for you to fucking step up and learn how to use some simple restraints or sensory deprivation.

Venus in Virgo’s brain is magnificent and you might have to put some work in to get it to pay attention to the delicious things you’ve been granted permission to do to their body.

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At a certain point, Virgo’s bodily psychic talent kicks in and here more than anywhere else you will realize you don’t understand shit about Virgos. Ruled by Mercury, but of the Earth. If you thought an epic mind was intimidating, wait until you see how Venus in Virgo puts it to use towards sensuality.

If you wake up and find Venus in Virgo has left you, you should know that there were 100 signs, 100 little ways in which double V felt the urge, recommitted to you (despite their better judgement), and finally let the cord break all while you were off chasing butterflies. In the gentle mutable way of earth and deer, VV tried to tell you by making small requests that you didn’t listen to, while still making sure to find your keys every morning, making your coffee just the way you like it, and committing every favourite you have to memory. So they found someone else who would appreciate them.. Hopefully worship them.

But if you love a Venus in Virgo, take a risk on them. They need to be needed, to know their epic skills are going to someone who wants them. Life’s no fun if everyone’s too intimidated and well fucked Virgos may possibly save the world.

(BTW if you take this advice and ask that cute double V out, remember to fuck them extra good cause a Venus in Virgo has already done half your work for you so you should be doing *something*.)

Ciel Sainte-Marie (@cielsaintemarie) is a queer Black mixie artist and game designer making hidden doors, hoping to eventually crack through reality. Faerie is dead, long live Faerie.

Alyssa Hourie

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Fuck Operation Northern Spotlight: MEDIA RELEASE: Fight exploitation, not sex workers! Recycled campaign still misses the point.

The campaign addresses a problem that does not exist.

During this initiative, members of the Hamilton Police Service - Vice and Drug Unit gathered intelligence to assist and further investigations involving vulnerable women. Investigators connected with several women working in the sex trade locally, however none of the women identified as being involved in human trafficking.

Some data analysis would be great. Way to go, moralism! â&#x20AC;&#x153;As long as things are going okay and sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s getting paid, her needs are being met, then chances of her talking to

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the police are pretty slim to none.”

GASP! duh! ACAB “Once things start going sideways, that’s when we get information,” he explained.

Holed up in a hotel room close to Calgary’s airport, a handful of Calgary police officers and Mounties dig through piles of online escort ads and they prep for Day Two of Operation Northern Spotlight.

As they make calls to unsuspecting sex workers and set up “dates,” the door knocks. One by one, the officers make the calls. One by one, they hope to entice another person to leave the world’s oldest profession.

Pretty sure that cops pose a greater risk to sex workers than their clients do.

“We won’t be giving up, but all we can do is come back tomorrow and try again.”

UGH. FUCK YOUR SURVEILLANCE STATE: Sgt. Darryl Ramkissoon, who oversees Winnipeg police’s Counter Exploitation Unit and Missing Persons Unit, said having the FBI on board helps them gain access to American social media sites, like Facebook, for investigating.

Anonymous

uh huh, uh huh (that’s the way it is) why do you have to go and make things so complicated? / i see the way you’re acting like you’re somebody cis gets me frustrated

andreas kontonicolas: bigender / bisexual / bigeneric

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AlpineT is a person currently trying to find new ways to cope with things around

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Si algo me sucediera (If something happened to me)

con filtros para resaltar (with filters to stand out)

Para mi México herido, para mi tierra de odio y guerra (To my injured Mexico, to my land of war and hatred)

mis ojos verdes, mi piel blanca (my green eyes, my fair skin)

Si algo me sucediera (i something happened to me) si me alcanzara la quimera (if the chimera got me) no habría justicia (there would be no justice) porque no soy hija de políticos (because i’m no daughter of politicians) o empresarios influyentes (or influential bussinesman) ni heredera de fortunas. (or heiress of some fortune) Si algo me sucediera (if something happened to me) sería un crimen (it would be a crime) como cualquier crimen (like any other crime) doméstico, sin culpables (domestic, without guilty) sin justicia, porque nací mujer (without justice, because I’m a woman) rubia, mexicana... (fair-haired mexican…) mi justicia sería en closeup (my justice would be a closeup) un fragmento de mi cara (a fragment of my face)

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aparecer un día en el periódico (be on the newspaper one day) si muero, una semana en redes sociales (a week on social networks, if i die) porque soy de media casta (because i am half breed) mestiza de piel clara (half breed of fair skin) esa sería mi justicia: (that would be my justice) farándula mexicana (mexican showbiz) dirán: era una buena chica (they would say: she was a nice girl) prometedora, le gustaba el arte (she had a future, she liked art) tenía buen corazón... (she had a good heart…) olvidarán lo más importante (they will forget the important stuff) porque no importa lo importante (because “important” is not important for them) no importan mi dicha ni tristeza (it’s not important, my delight or my sorrow) no importa el varón de mis entrañas (not important the guy in my gut) ni el amor que amo (nor the love i love) ni los pájaros que miro (nor the birds i see)

ni la luna, ni las arañas (nor the moon, or the spiders) no importan mis amigos ni mis padres (not important my friends or my folks)

Denise Longoria (@nuevaiss), 1991, is a mexican poet, artist, and performer. https://radiorotapuntocom.wordpress.com.

no importan mis maestros ni mis libros (not important my teachers nor my books) ni mi arte. Al crimen, a la injusticia (not important my art. Crime, injustice,) al ignorante, no le importa el arte (the ignorant, give a fuck about art) ni el mío, ni el de nadie. (mine, or anyone’s) Si algo me sucediera, sucedería y ya (if something happened to me, it would happen, no biggie) palabras bonitas, arreglos florales (just some pretty words, floral arrangements) recuerdos, algo de simpatía, y ya (memories, some sympathy, that’s it.)

RIVOLUTION IS NOT FOR ALL

Recyclable beings, like bins of bone and soul

para Sixto Rodriguez porque me inspira

Recyclable beings, like bins of blood and core Rivolution is not for all

How much death

we must keep trying

must be in a soul

Rivolution is not for all

that it won't stop crying?

we must keep trying

Rivolution is not for all

or die without success

we must keep trying

like so many people before us

or die without success

try and die like the rest

like so many people before us

cause that's what we are meant for

die without success

and we love it, all of it, we do

like so many people before us

we love it, all of it, we do

we must keep trying like the rest

this hurting all because of you

cause that's what we are made of

this hurting all because of you

try and die like the rest

we love it, we do.

cause that's what we are meant for

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Jacq Pelland is a Two-Spirit femme artist who loves decolonization, brownie sundaes and fluffy dogs.

Untitled last night i dreamt about chronically underachieving and the well-meaning asking why why and what is next dreamt of an intruder inside my house who i had once invited in, of my capacity for violence dreamt i was on vacation and sat at the hotel bar for four days before i remembered the beach, but i had to leave. then i dreamt i had a baby, a day-old baby,

and felt nothing, held no one. i walked to town, found a photo booth to document myself, as is. i refused to put down the strip. when i came home, everyone was quiet. i woke up early, not from determination but a lack of options. i went for a swim, first thing. all day i casually weaved this into conversations, to hear how high-functioning it sounded. i traced the panes of the windows to the dull hum of office electronics, forgettable, bearable, until it isn’t. i chewed on my lips and repeated why why and what is next.

Meaghan Ellen Kelly lives in Toronto, where she sometimes writes poetry but mostly works an admin job for ‘the left’ and reads about baseball. She’s often femme, almost always mad-identified, and never not a Gemini.

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spring: spring can be though without a good collyrium. * VINNIE *

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Untitled CW: implied sexual assault Goodnight You say With a soft heart And a soft voice I cut my thumb but I don't know when Just bled and wiped it on the grass, over and over Its not like it really affected me, she said I just wanted to tell you about it I just wanted to check if you thought it was my fault I've been asking people I've been chasing something I hate We aren't sure what direction to go in, women It says it's fine for everything to be your fault They say its hard not to ever be able to scream Like men at war Drunk bodies at parties are all we have to conquer News headlines of our lives aren't exactly glory Everything is squeezed into a fine few lines That a few spectacled academics Give out like fine scotch No one can afford it Not every night We have to find what we want in strangers apartments Or on top of piles of their coats We end up learning lessons in the dark Or in sterile stairwells With foreign threats Coming true To talk about later Finally When there's no men around We sneak into our tents to text our sex partners and ex's After headlamp stories And what we still worry people think of us All the things not to do for that reason If you have to wonder if you have a choice you don't This is what it means to be a woman

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I need you to say goodnight to me To hear your safe voice We like to get protected But we need each other too The space we make I love women They believe me About what's good and bad I've done And they believe that I believe them We are not all the same We have to separate And come together with the ones who understand us Controversial But current Old But the same It feels like the strongest force Were a camp of short story tellers Just few 20 something year olds We need each other like we always did Go to sleep with whiskey and gin Wisps on the breath I remember him saying he would protect me But he hated feminism He hated women I don't blame everyone Just like she's only got 3 or 4 enemies in all of mankind But its nice to have a safe bonfire And a lot of truth Why does it feel like all we do and say to men is somewhat of a lie At least a percentage Why is there deception between the sexes Why do we no longer understand clearly Im lost But Im not alone in that

Leah Erenberg is an art dealer and solo traveler who writes about her experiences of people and places, and who believes, in the words of Ai Weiwei, that “If it’s not political, its not art”.

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C. Wing expresses frustration through subtle jabs. She enjoys trading underwear and lives in Winnipeg.

11.12.16

CW: Polyamory, suicide, self harm One of my datefriends broke up with me 2 days ago. Last week we had scheduled that evening for a date and check in talk. During the week I was really scared and texting all my frenz about my fear.

My fears were: I wouldn't say the right thing, that I would agree to things that went against my boundaries, that he would break up with me. This fear filled my chest, so much I feared my chest ripping open bc it couldn't contain the energy.

I felt guilty telling my friends about my fears. I thought I shouldn't bother certain frenz bc they were single and/ or out of bad relationships recently. That ruled out a lot of my support. I thought I shouldn't be talking about it because "it is all in my head" and "it's annoying when people stress about their relationships".

These last two thoughts contradict my own approach to friends and feelings; that feelings are valid and my friends' experiences and pain are valid. I always want to be sympathetic to my friends and what their struggles are; especially fellow femmes and to women.

I did reach out to frenz and they were kind. My friends reminded me that it will be okay, that if my (ex) datefriend was a decent person, he would be sympathetic and nice about it. He would be forgiving of mistakes.

That I am a good fren and valuable and loved. I'm really grateful to my frenz.

The breakup wasn't about our relationship-we were really digging each other's company. Its sad my ex-datefriend is harmed and needs to heal and how so so so many of us are harmed and will continue to be. Its good he is prioritizing his self.

I am heartbroken though. The night he told me I cried so hard. I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to watch my blood run down my arms.

I didn't hesitate this time to text my frenz and tell them how sad and fucked up about it I was. I complain about how done I am with putting my bb heart out to romantic connections. How I think I will always be broken and the abuse I endured as a child will never stop hurting me.

I feel embarrassed and weak for telling my friends this but I need them to hear me and comfort me. I don't deserve to feel guilty for having this experience and reaching out to my people. I feel guilty though haha.

I don't know that that will go away but at least I don't hesitate as long to tell people where I'm at. At least I haven't killed myself and I didn't hurt myself that night even though it felt so dire. So I am doing okay.

The topic of this zine is so important to me and I didn't even know how much until I tried writing about my experiences and thought it was stupid and felt embarrassed. I'm grateful just to have the space to share my thoughts.

Ulice Miel

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“Outside the bathroom Ziggy chugged a pint of beer and shot pool. Who would Ziggy have been if she had been born into a different place and time, a different gender, with different desires? Ziggy would’ve maybe been David Lynch, maybe Charles Bukowski. Actually, Ziggy was Charles Bukowski. She was that drunk and clever and orner, that prolific, filling up notebook after notebook with her poems and then losing them. She lost her notebooks regularly, followed by a full day of mourning and angst and then Oh well, what the fuck and she would get to filling up a fresh one with her words. What would it take for Ziggy, queer Ziggy, to ascend to the peak Bukowski died upon? She couldn’t. She was a whiny woman, a complaining queer. In order to have your complaints listened to in this world you couldn’t have that much to really complain about.”

- Blackwave by Michelle Tea Jess Lukie is a queer femme-ish mama who enjoys sharing zines with her lovely and sometimes whiney four year old daughter.

Alyssa Hourie

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On welfare, disability, and queerness Trigger warning: Government assistance, poverty, prostitution, family, deadnaming I'm stripped of my humanity again and again My entire existence is reduced to waiting rooms Forms And that small payment that never arrives on schedule I yelled at the lady on the phone She doesn't subject me to starvation But the system that employs her does I had a man over to my apartment He called me a pretty girl And clung to me When he left I bought medicine and food And a three dollar christmas tree My family took me for dinner I was deadnamed Silenced Blamed She bought me new clothes He paid for half my rent I shut up Know my place Know that I can't compromise my welfare I keep it at home for the cat How rude the assistance office is How I can't budget if money doesn't show up How I can't eat because of stress How I can't get up if I don't eat How it feels to take money for sex How I can't reject my family Because they are a resource And every single resource is key to survival Dylan Pickle: Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m genderless, go by they/them pronouns, and enjoy playing guitar, writing, and walking adventures.

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Untitled Tw: death, mental health issues, (implied) emotional abuse All my life i was characterized as being a whiny drama queen. My mom would complain all the time that i was a horrible child.

I was always too much, too intense.

Too many emotions, too much whininess.

Having borderline personality disorder and presenting in a way that people code as feminine in this binary world, i fit the stereotype of a very whiny cis woman.

When we both were 18 my best friend died. From that day on I cried everywhere when I wanted to.

When my mental health deteriorated this year I couldnt stop.

I cried at the bus. I cried in the supermarket.

I cried in the train. I cried while walking the streets of Berlin.

I cried. And cried. And cried.

I started taking selfies of my breakdowns. I dont know exactly why. But it helped me to accept my feelings and validating them.

I am not sorry if i make you uncomfortable.

I feel like shit and I am tired of hiding it.

Try a day in my brain, a day in my body and we will see.

Some people cant deal with my emotions and for years I thought of myself as overdramatic, hysteric and annoying.

I tried to keep my emotions under control.

Being less, making myself small, taking less space.

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I'm done with this.

Yes, maybe my emotions are a lot. Maybe I cry 6 times a day and complain all day about my mental health issues and my disabled body. But this is my way of coping.

My feelings are valid and I will allow myself to whine and complain as much as I want to.

Fortunately i have my queer bubble where I can complain safely, knowing that i wont be judged or seen as too much.

It was a lot of hard work to accepting myself and I still struggle on bad days. But I wont let myself be judged by others. I am hard enough on myself, I dont need your shit on top of that.

I want to stay soft.

I am into radical softness and radical vulnerability.

I am soft. I am a queer marshmallow.

I dont want to change that. I am hypervigilant and hyper empathetic. It is exhausting. But it is me.

I wont shrink myself to make others comfortable. I wont do all emotional labour for free. I am done catering to everyone elses needs but never to my own.

I will be a whiny, chubby femme.

Deal with it.

Or dont.

But then gtfo.

Feo: white non binary afab femme. Plant lover, pug hugger and whiny bitch.

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Bite Your Tongue Goddenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s creative practice uses performative gestures to explore how personal histories of sexual assault, cultural heritage, and the body in relation to geographic space can be conveyed through material engagements with the body. Goddenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s practice is built on cycles of pain and progress, where she employs attraction repulsion dichotomies through repetitive processes.

Vanessa Godden is a mixed media artist based in Melbourne, Australia

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Chimera Collaboration Chimera Collaboration is comprised of Long Beach and Melbourne based artists Melissa Tran and Vanessa Godden. Melissa Tran and Vanessa Goddenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ideals of femininity and beauty imposed upon them from each of their contrasting multiracial identities are the catalyst for their collaborative endeavors. Their collaboration process explores themes of racial ambiguity through the use of blending, disconnecting, and reflection. Fusing their bodies with materials such as paint swatches, latex paint, foundation makeup, photographs, sheets, nylon tights, and ice cream, Tran and Godden address the divergent constitution of their cultural identities in a society fixated on the individualsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; ethnic origins.

Melissa Tran & Vanessa Godden

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janis maudlin edits the journal Death Flails, wrote the chapbook Golden Rainbows, and â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;grams @geminisubtop deathflails.com

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1.

Do you see marching ants that make the [C at the] top left corner, [U at the] top right corner, [T at the] bottom left corner, and [E at the] bottom right corner? Click and drag any of these to resize [woman into girl]. Save as jpeg. It’s really that simple. The image quality kind of sucks if you need to make it bigger again, but it looks pretty good if you keep it that size - instructions for how to use Photoshop, by a man who doesn’t know how to use Photoshop 2.

You want to learn how to reduce a complex fraction, okay, just watch.

I promise it comes easier with practice, especially when she’s got too much weariness to stop smiling.

Watch me take her name, with too many consonants in foreign places, too many dashes to linger on, and clip it into cute, which is much easier to remember. Or if you can’t shorten it, just call her Coco or Riri There you go.

I guess maybe that isn’t too helpful for your grade 5 homework Sorry - girls hate math 3.

You are stainless steel and serration, have run blood off your spine under the tap, Sharp as the day you first slit a silver fish open and scooped out the guts, But cute Grinds you child-safe, into a dull blade, a butter knife, clattering brightly into the sink.

- steak and nutella 4.

A spork is doomed to always be the little spoon. See the tiny prongs chasing sucralose around in scented water. So sweet! they say.

So cute! You are so cute. I wanna

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1) squish your cheeks 2) squeeze your face 2) devour your sense of self worth - you’re so cute i could eat you right up 5.

Before her lover awakes, the blinds tilt light down like lowered eyelids. The room is dark like a garden.

The coffee sits unground as beans. Her roots lie unbleached. Her irises gleam.

Deft with the grey light, fingers click sun-dust for the corners of her eyes, paint early ripeness on pillow lips, fluff downy hair.

She climbs back in among the weeds, carefully arranges her body before she sleeps again, her summer birch limbs scoffed for soft stems in a crystal vase.

- before they awake 6.

Cute means there are a thousand flying fires clear against the night, and yet you still call it falling stars like they don’t know where they’re going, like you can catch them, put them in your pocket without burning your ass off, like you still make wishes on this thing you don’t understand.

How much has to burn before you see her little flame won’t light your way or keep you warm Isn’t for your viewing pleasure Owes you nothing if the neighbour’s garage light keeps turning on and drowning out the dark - let’s get out of here 7.

It’s been one year. And still, her lover’s brown eyes alight on her so fast that she thinks she must be woven from tall grass prairie and cinnamon. They are in love. And it’s beautiful. She thinks of their firsts planted like a tossed packet of wildflowers. They can see them blooming into laugh lines holding fast loamy soil, and dark wetness, and pearlescent earthworms,

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but it’s not enough to make her sure. She can feel the eye of summer burning hot behind her own left eye. Still convinced she won this immortality with a siren song. With lipstick and manic pixie dust and all the deceits that she taught herself to be cute and still survive. Cute is the only song she knows (too well). She can’t figure out how to change the key; there’s always a neighbour who could hear her changing the notes; a passerby could catch her stark in only e minor. So, best face forward. At least for now she knows how to do it well enough to make her lover stay.

- sirena 8.

See her sailing north without a star, no moonlight, no compass, only a rusty streak of iron on her cheek, which will do, and the smear of ash under eye.

Every day she checks she’s still there, that time has not made sunken ships of her cheekbones.

She checks the crow’s nest for crows’ footprints.

Climbs the bow to find Cupid there, smirking.

- how do you stay in one place when the earth is turning 9.

The mirror’s still, but not silent, it reflects her double standard, and she knows it, too. She wants to stop thinking About how to make her legs look long on Skype and how to come - alluringly, how to pretty cry, But it unnerves others to not recognize her without eyebrows, or to not be able to call her cute. Her given name.

Who is she without that?

She thinks of the generosity of strangers.

Later, cold teabag weeping into the mug, Even though she hates it, she still feels safest with the cautious silver scraping stubble from her labia, travel-size manicure tools clipping her cuticles away.

- seeing double

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Adrienne Yeung is a poet scrounging for sunbeams in Vancouver.

Lauren Clavet

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Kathleen Bergen is a multidisciplinary artist from Winnipeg, Manitoba. Sometimes she also writes things.

@femme4memes

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EAT UR WHINY HEART OUT resources for u tenderqueers <3 Persistence: All Ways Butch and Femme - edited by Zena Sharman & Ivan E. Coyote (anthology) I know what femme is, and it’s about honour. Femmes are oxygen. My water. I have fallen for queer masculinity that still gets it up for femmes since I was sixteen, but you, you are my daily love letter. You are my Trader Joe’s dried chili mango, $1.99 in my purse, every day. Something sweet and fiery and full of flavour; I can reach for it, and it will feed me, sustain me, keep me going. Every day, gorgeous, perfect, needed. I reach for you. Femmes are my wealth. If I shine, it’s because of you. (Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha). <3 @alokvmenon - Alok Vaid-Menon (instagram) The amount of vitriol that cis women (including those who identify as feminists) levy to trans women & femmes (especially those of us who are gender non-conforming) is staggering and concerning. What is becoming increasingly apparent to me is that cis women redirect many of the patriarchal tactics used by cis men on them against US!...Our acceptance is contingent on our willingness to perpetuate gender binary thinking and not challenge it. (April 16/17). <3 “September: My Season of Jealousy” - Vivek Shraya (article) The life of an artist is one in which your work is repeatedly overlooked and rejected (even if the optics tell a different story). This is difficult enough, but as you become enmeshed in any industry where resources are scarce, not only do you continue to face rejection, but you also have to bear witness to who is given what you were denied. This often breeds a misplaced feeling of competition. <3 @sleepybbybutt - Chris Mancinas (instagram) How do you cope with existing in this material plane? What do you do to help yourself feel better? How do you show up for yourself everyday? How do you pull yourself out of a black hole? How do you reject and embrace ‘the self ’ at the same time? How do you feel whole when your being is fleeting and fluid? How do you keep yourself from floating away? How do you learn to just fucking chill and stop thinking about how you just woke up in a damn body? How to say fuck it and just commit to riding this wave out?? (July 25/17). <3 “The Women Widowed to Themselves” - Lora Mathis (poetry) RECLUSIVE. It is hard living so deeply within myself. There is nowhere to go when I need a moment to think. <3 “Bury Me at Makeout Creek” & “Puberty 2” - Mitski (albums) Wild women don’t get the blues, but I find that lately I’ve been crying like a tall child…

And I was so young when I behaved twenty five, yet now I find I’ve grown into a tall child. * Today I will wear my white button-down, I’m tired of wanting more, I think I’m finally worn. For you have a way of promising things, and I’ve been a forest fire. I am a forest fire. And I am the fire and I am the forest, and I am a witness watching it. I stand in a valley watching it. And you are not there at all. So today I will wear my white button-down. I can at least be neat, walk out and be seen as clean. And I’ll go to work and I’ll go to sleep, and I’ll 71 love the littler things. I’ll love some littler things.

<3 “Queering Intimacy” - Dayna Danger (visual art) Space is really important to Indigenous people. If we’re literally waiting to get our land back, maybe I can at least try to claim space in other ways. I really want to challenge the ways in which our bodies have been consumed in a way that doesn’t feel consensual and doesn’t feel like it’s authentic or that it’s our own. Whoever is behind the lens is controlling what is authentic, what is real, and so that’s why it’s such an interesting dynamic that has to be built on trust. And that’s why I really love BDSM too is because all these things are interconnected because it’s so consentbased in the ways that you’re really talking about your hard no’s but also your yes’s. (Interview by Canadian Art).

Dayna Danger, Adrienne. From Disrupt Archive.

(Sourced from “Visual Cultures of Indigenous Futurisms” in Guts Magazine”)

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<3 “Truthteller” - Eroca Nicols/Lady Janitor (performance art & contemporary dance) Truthteller is a solo work by Lady Janitor featuring: feats of fear facing and concentration, questions and answers, femme-tastic one-on-one time, calling on and calling out the past, present and future, conversation, acquatechnics, live lifelong lasting body alteration, dancing, sweating, movement and yes, truthtelling. (aceartinc., October 22/16).

Sister show with “Taking it to the Grave” (Lady Janitor & Andrew Henderson [aka Glamdrew]) - a ceremonial performance on the edge of life & death. <3 “Find Safety” - LAL (album) Rules were meant to be broken Rules were meant to be broken Rules were meant to be broken Rules were meant to be broken <3 “Bodymap” - Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha (poetry) I love girls who wanna set shit on fire, whose cut eye can penetrate oil spills. I love girls who want to smash faces, break windows. Whose asses swish with the cut of razors. I love every loud-mouthed-hard-assed-fuck-with-you skin soft like a loquat as they punch your cunt into an infinity, femme. I love girls who will fuck you up for no, and every good reason. And I love those girls, who look at me hard and whisper thank god, who have never once been scared of me. * are you still a hard femme, love? or are you so soft, broken open by the world? <3 “Milk & Honey” - Rupi Kaur (poetry) Most importantly love like it’s the only thing you know how. at the end of the day all this means nothing. this page. where you’re sitting. your degree. your job. the money. nothing even matters except love and human connection, who you loved, and how deeply you loved them. how you touched the people around you and how much you gave them. <3 “A safe girl to love” - Casey Plett (short stories) I dream of a day when she is happy, when we can exist together and just be, when I can wake up in the morning with her hair in my face, whole and entwined…In this awful world, you might get love. Let me go with my luck.

She’s what I’ll dream of. Lying on the floor, a sunny sky coming in through the window, under the pure of her eyes and the turn of her hair, giving myself to her brush, forever, without wish to go forward or leave. <3 Pages & groups to check out on Facebook Femme 4 Memes Femme Healing Collective Femmefuckingtastic Queer Fat Femme Queer Femme Zine Collective Hawthorn Heart - Femme Boundary Support Christina Hajjar is a first-generation Lebanese-Canadian pisces & femme, artist & organizer who loves to snack, scheme and be cozy. christinahajjar.com

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CripCareCards I recently did an artist residency on the Toronto island with a bunch of other feminist artists, in this process I created 11 "greeting/get well" cards for folks with disabilities and chronic illnesses. I am working toward continuing my art practice and launching this card series into an advocacy and care products.

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Sick Femme Being sick/disabled and femme can be hard, when we don't feel well putting on our femme armor is daunting. This card is for your femme friend as a reminder that they've still got it!

Be good to yourself

Self-Care and Resilience Self-Care is not self-indulgent or selfish, its about the day to day things we must do in order to survive life. The way we manage our health, our bodies, our spirit.

Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll share my spoons This card is for giving to someone who is low on spoons/energy.

Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll Share My Spoons with You

Kate Welsh is a white cis queer femme crip community activist, feminist artist and educator in Toronto. katewelsh.ca

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