Zine Your Heartbreak

poetry ~feelings~ collage ~zine~ radical. black. queer. a poem a day keeps the heartache at bay.

[zineyourheartbreak]

-An alternative way to diagram gender and/or sexuality via the metaphor of a star system! Inspired by Melanie Gillman’s comic “Graphing Gender.”

-An excerpt from my zine “Everything I Didn’t Learn in Health Class–– A Guide to Navigating Gender for Trans, Intersex and Non Binary Youth (and Their Parents/Guardians). The full zine can be accessed through this link. 

[zineyourheartbreak]

-An alternate model for diagraming gender & Sexuality via the metaphor of a garden

-An excerpt from my zine “Everything I Didn’t Learn in Health Class–– A Guide to Navigating Gender for Trans, Intersex and Non Binary Youth (and Their Parents/Guardians). The full zine can be accessed through this link. 

[zineyourheartbreak]

maroon/quantum

––darkened red

Or rouged black––

TO  BE  BLACK

       OR NOT TO BE

THAT  IS  THE  QUESTION

TO  BE  WHITE

     OR NOT TO BE

THAT  IS  THE  QUESTION

––blends into night and

           glows under sun––

TO  BE

     OR  TO  NOT

THOSE  ARE  YOUR  OPTIONS

––run into the mountains

where it’s safe

we’re waiting for you––

NON-EXISTENCE (Extinction)

ASSIMILATION (Death)

SUBHUMAN (Lifelessness)

––they can’t touch us here

they can’t find us

relax now

  you can breathe

fight now you are free––

[zineyourheartbreak]

Hands

Gendered violence

against black and indigenous people

is a historical trend

that we are still living

Mas, as vezes eu não quero escrever

somente de minhas traumas

quiero escribir de recuperación

de sobrevivencia felicidad

y resistencia

I can’t only write about pain

Hands off don’t touch me déjame tranquila

Neste momento no me fucking

toques

Basta ya! I am not

your bed wench sua escrava sexual

tu pinche conquista

somos humanos tenemos

nuestras propias vivencias

Eu não sou mulher nas maneiras que você

compreende

somos de tierra

fuego

agua y viento we are more than flesh

we are elemental made of stars

Oye, cabron

sus manos sangrientas no pueden

ensuciarnos porque we’ve had standards

of hygiene since before medieval europe

sois puras

porque sus pecados can’t fucking

touch this

So go ahead and

show me your worst

puedes matarme but you

somente pode destruir sua própria alma

I will heal en esta vida

ou a próxima

in the arms of my ancestors

I will live on to forget you

Mas você

tu alma va a degradar

stuck in your body as it rots

hasta no hay nada

but the stain

of what you’ve done

y tu memoria of us.

[zineyourheartbreak]

homeland

They tried to do to you what they did to us

ripping us from our ancestors I don’t have a homeland only water

my people were born again ripped from Yemaya’s womb in the middle passage

either the sea took you home

to Africa where your ancestors’ bones rest or the white men took you

to a land that would never be your home.

[zineyourheartbreak]

Bones

They did it to us both stole us from our homes you to the school us to the plantation cut off our hair beat away our names cut out our tongues and replaced them with their own They tried to steal our memories of home but they underestimated the resilience of our bones bones that would never lie with our ancestors but would grow new descendants from the fertile marrow cut and spilled into the “new world” earth of white men

[zineyourheartbreak]

Known

Let it be known

that if my body

is found

alone

at home

6am Friday morning

that is was rape

that killed me

that I could not survive

in a world

where I could not escape

sexual violence

in my past

the memories of

his hands dick mouth

forever embossed on my

body, burned into muscle and bone

buried in new flesh and tissue

the scars of her fingers

still grabbing pressing pinching

my nerves through space and that me

in my present

when I walk outside and

a man yells at me

telling me my black body is

still public property

when a partner crosses a boundary

and I have to cut them off before

it escalates into...

in my future

you can’t tell me it won’t

happen again

statistically as a survivor I’m more

at risk for repeated assault

statistically I’m already at risk

black woman

bisexual

non binary

I have lived this shit since 7th grade

it is part of my life

and won’t stop anytime soon

unless I do.

Let it be known

that if I die by my own hand

that it was rape that killed me

that I did not survive

but that I stopped it from ever

happening to me again.

[zineyourheartbreak]

This is not a poem about a dog “Is it a boy or a girl?” “She’s so exotic! What is she?” “Ooh, a mix?” “So basically a mutt.” “Wait, lemme guess!” “Abyssinian? Black Russian...?” “I’d say some Himalayan” “Or maybe bengal!” “Hm, one of those Chinese ones?” “Just looks like a regular old Frenchie to me.” “Really? That’s not what I would have guessed...” “Oh. Okay...” “I knew it! The shape of the nose gives it away.” “Does she take more after the mother’s or the father’s sides?” “So the best of both!” “You just never know when bad gene is gonna come out when you don’t know the history of the parents.” “I’ve heard they can have... behavioral issues.” “And you’re not worried about it becoming violent?” “Wait she’s not fixed? Isn’t that a little irresponsible?”

[zineyourheartbreak]

My gender is sleeping naked in winter. 

My gender is fresh sawdust and wisteria trapped in my curls. My gender is aquanet buns. My gender is 90s goth.

My gender is no one asked you.

[zineyourheartbreak]

My gender is doing my hair while walking to the bus. My gender is not your violence. My gender is not a concrete mathematical concept, the calculation of a slope on a two dimensional graph somewhere between x and y. My gender is a parabola an ellipse a non real number the square root of -1. The limit is negative infinity to infinity on all axes x, y and z. My gender is hand embroidered. My gender is not sewn by machine, because I've already broke one needle on my first try. My gender is a collection of dance shoes. My gender is not ballet flats. My gender is not sneakers. My gender is broken in docs and heels I can't walk in because I'm not dancing and my feet are weak.

[zineyourheartbreak]

My gender is black eyed peas over rice.

My gender is not a diet of zero carbs. My gender is not paleo. My gender is eggless lemon cake with homemade vegan buttercream.

My gender is whiskey cherries and muddled mint My gender is not the olive in your martini, the celery in your bloodyMary

[zineyourheartbreak]

My gender is not yours to define.

My gender is not a game of Clue.

My gender is Hungry Hungry Hippos.

My gender is Bitch by Meredith Brooks.

[zineyourheartbreak]

My gender is cone studs on denim. My gender is not here for your entertainment. My gender is no shave November. My gender is ginkgo leaves in fall covering the street like snowdrifts. My gender is an unanswered love letter. My gender is not your damnation. My gender is not your unreciprocated emotional support. My gender is hand ripped jeans and badly sewn patches. My gender is a baseball bat ready to take names. My gender is not conquest, to be or to strive for.

[zineyourheartbreak]

My gender is ostentatious. My gender is flannel and camping, in that order. My gender is 3 am awake wishing I was naked in the ocean. My gender is get the fuck out my face. My gender is unconditional love. My gender is not my wet dreams. My gender is birdsong the morning after. My gender is not barbies vs hot wheels. My gender is not pastel.

[zineyourheartbreak]

My gender is a classic car that a model danced on in an 80s metal video.

My gender is not your assumptions.

My gender is faux leather and liquid look leggings.

My gender is a handwritten collection of Italian sonnets.

My gender is not my menstrual products.

[zineyourheartbreak]

My gender is my abstract vibrator collection.

My gender is torn fishnets.

My gender is not my vulva piercing.

My gender is not my scrotum.

My gender is not my parents’ hopes and dreams imprinted on my identity before my birth.

[zineyourheartbreak]

My gender is My gender is not the width of my hips. My gender is none of your business. My gender is not the breadth of my shoulders. My gender is a tablesaw.