harlot vol. 1
table of contents front and back cover art by emma kearney sabrina piersol....................................1 emily navarro....................................2-3 jessy randall......................................4 amelia eskenazi....................................5 hannah fleming......................................6 lukey walden.......................................7 holly pretsky......................................8 paige talerico.....................................9 logan coleman.....................................10 anonymous.........................................11 grace coomarawamy.................................12 austin lukondi....................................13 hannah fleming.....................................14 sabrina piersol...................................15 jessy randall.....................................16 paige talerico....................................17 emily navarro..................................18-21 thabiso ratalane..................................22 amelia eskenazi...................................23 hannah fleming.....................................24 eboni statham.....................................25 amelia eskenazi, hannah fleming, emma kearney......26 lukey walden......................................27 amelia eskenazi...................................28 njeri summey......................................29 chan bird.........................................30
sabrina piersol
When your parents are activist-hating ass holes. preface: I think, like most children, I was under the impression that my parents were wizards. Not actual wizards, though I hoped and dreamed, but wizards in the sense that they had a very secret key that unlocked a very secret cabinet containing all the answers to any and every question my imagination could conjure. But this was not the case and boy was I disappointed. My parents were not only NOT wizards, but they didn’t know SHIT. And what’s worse, the list of questions that are left unanswered and you have to take “I don’t know” as an answer, continues to multiply in size with each passing day. Actually what’s worse than that, is growing up and realizing that the same unanswered questions our parents once asked their parents, are still sitting like cold, stale, unfinished food they never got around to eating. December 21, 2015 - It’s the day before my dad’s birthday and I just left his house to board a plane. I’m silently thanking the Universe because it just “happened” that way, and then recoil in terror because of how shitty that is. I don’t really know how I feel. I just met a stranger on the plane who made me feel 10x better/happier/more confident in myself than my dad ever has, probably. Yesterday we had a long talk where he made me feel like the Biggest Asshole Ever. Maybe it was his way of defending himself because I made him feel like an asshole too.. I told him I couldn’t trust him and the rest of the family (step family) and he told me that him and the rest of the family think I am self-absorbed, unapproachable, and downright mean. OH - and that I only care about activism and look at my dad like he is Donald Trump lol and it’s like i’m in a cult. A fucking cult. Are you kidding me? Just because I care enough to call him out on his racist bullshit?! Classic free-speech argument this is getting really old He said I used to be so thoughtful and loving - but that’s the ‘Old Emily.’ Maybe that’s because I used to be quiet and go along with every fucked up thing he said. Fuck that.
He said I’m angry and he’s goddamn right. I am frustrated with the world I live in and it’s fine that I don’t have parents to confide in, but I wish I had some adult in my life to tell me it’s going to be okay and that i’m on the right track. At the same time… Am I being such a brat? Probably. I have two parents that love me, and shouldn’t that be enough? Even if they don’t know me or understand me. My parents are not superheroes - they fuck up just like me. They are just trying to make the best out of their lives in this world they’ve been given. Addie is right - I should embrace them. Love them. Because that’s all we all really want and need at the end of the day. I don’t think anything with my dad can be fixed with just one realization/apology/hug, but i’ll figure it out. First step, find another adult to confide in, so that all the weight doesn’t fall upon him and his emotional inadequacy. I learn self-affirmation. December 30, 2015 - My mother just screamed at me for the simple fact that I respect the gender nonconforming identities of my friends and refer to them as they even though I sat her down over Thanksgiving and patiently explained it all. This whole THEY thing is just SILLY, it’s SILLY emily. Tears well in my eyes and I feel guilty because I only take on in this moment one tiny fraction of their pain. And I just don’t understand why you have to go around wearing tiny shirts and letting your tits hang out, and you’re being brainwashed, and you need to get your head out of all this social justice stuff and start thinking with your brain and you should definitely go see a psychiatrist and…. and I tune out. I remember that she is a mere reflection. How sad, we are all just reflections… but in this moment it comforts me. emily navarro
jessy randall
amelia eskenazi
Playing for the team “I can’t make it to Our rendezvous I have to buy breakfast For the team“ You’re more than a phone screen. Last night You directed my dream Laid me down on a metal table And kissed me in a crowded scene It’s frightening, I can still feel The smooth-shaven back of your neck The wet regret Sunglasses, snapping fingers, etiquette: Where there’s a mouth There’s a cigarette Your clipboard read patriarchy. I winced because it was “tastefully tacky— Noveau tacky” Baby, I’m jealous These short phrases clipped from loaded words Might make your movie clever hannah fleming
lukey walden
Trade
They sometimes offered to buy my eyes. “How much do you want for them? Three hundred dollars?” “You can ride for free if you give me your eyes.” Inevitably I would lose myself for a moment as I pictured removing my eyes from my head. The suction, then the blades of clinical scissors meeting as the veins they hang from, cord-like and taught, sever. Coming to, I looked at their eyes with my eyes and laughed politely.
holly pretsky
paige talerico
logan coleman
I am a survivor I am more than what I have survived I am a tree I am a strong tall rooted oak tree that shades and listens I mean more than the way you used my body against my will, I am more than the worst thing that has happened to me I am more than the bruises you left on my arms I am more than the scars I am a woman I am whole it’s not that you took something from me, you didn’t take from me, I am whole, I am not broken But I am wounded I have scars unseen, unseen because beneath my cheery demeanor I feel weary of trusting and hearing false words smooth lies If they get too close they see the scars you left, the aftermath of a hurricane shambles, you left me there, tears slide down my cheeks my neck my breasts my Heart my everything my what do I even have now? touch but you didn’t take something from me I am whole, I am not the girl I was I am more than the bruises you left on my skin, the breath you took from my lungs with your fingers gripped around my neck I am a survivor I am okay I am whole. -anonymous
grace coomaraswamy
austin lukondi
Spanish June The river’s surface Forms thin film over Body of tiramisu A duck cuts across, A fish swims underneath, Congealed in the heat Of a Spanish June On green pathways, we walk in tune To the cries of cats In a city That does not neuter Its population Of animals For example: the man That ties bracelets around My wrists and lifts me up To see how much I weigh It doesn’t matter— I never planned To take up this much space hannah fleming
sabrina piersol
jessy randall
paige talerico
On a snowy day in February you will have a daughter. “Oh I can’t remember what is the name of that woman in that movie…” she said to no one. Maybe it was me. Maybe I was supposed to catch her words with a net and fish them out of the murkiness. Her voice is almost always in fade-out mode like when you turn on the radio only to hear the end of a song that gets quieter and fuzzier, until nothing. I’ve stopped asking “why” because i think it has something to do with the long phone calls and angry emails and half-read books. i wonder what sounds her ears make. Does she hear her ex-husband drilling words into the soles of her feet and the cops’ shiny shoes squeaking up the hard-wood floors of our beautiful brick home, or the soft shake of my sister’s whisper into my ear “let’s go upstairs.” Maybe. Or maybe she hears the clinking of tea cups at the small lace-covered table small enough to fit only her two little girls’ billowy bodies not yet inscribed with the repugnant stench of love gone awry left out in the sun too long, dried up like a stale spaghetti noodle. or the sound of her daughters’ gurgling laughter, spilling over onto the floor like bubbling milk, a mess she lets stay awhile and seep into her still-recovering splotchy sun dried skin. or the sound of my sister’s hands scratching the face of her video camera “mommy mommy i have a new song to sing for you! listen listen” LISTEN LISTEN mom I’m trying to communicate with you. I’m trying to tell you the dull sting of a bee that festers and lumps when i think of you, my beautiful mother.
And when she is born, she will open her eyes to unfamiliar people and objects and she will cry until she is welcomed into your arms with unconditional love that causes your chest to swell fifty times because your love multiplies with each passing moment that you hold her in your two curved palms. I guess my question is no longer “why” but when. When did you become this tired, tired not in the physical way, you still manage to carry on, waking up each morning in this giant feather filled King bed that I’ve never once had to drag you out of. you are the Queen that sleeps there alone each night, much to your dismay. You still seem to bounce around the room, and I know it’s not the coffee that keeps you that way, but then what is it? Or is that all the bounce you have left and save for me when we are seldom together. Maybe you’ve just become a master face painter— i think i have much to learn from you in that way. or do i But I’d be naive to mistake it for anything but a mask, used to conceal a restless weary mind, exasperated and exhausted from all that running on that goddamned hamster wheel you know you’re running in circles though, don’t you. When we speak it’s like your mind has been literally pushed down the rabbit hole, and I know if you were to press charges, my father would be led off in chains and handcuffs. You used to be so full of life, energy spark, and confidence, or so it seemed. Where did all of it go? Did it evaporate like the water for our “lucky bamboo”? I wish I could’ve known you in your cheerleading days—even though we both know I wouldn’t be caught dead in that sparkly leotard parading around with pom poms in my palms, besides that time I put my pride aside because I knew it would turn the corners of your mouth.
No wonder Poppop hated dad— I would too if i saw everything beautiful sucked out of my daughter and there was one person, one relationship to blame. But it takes two to tango, right? You will kiss her head, her eyes, her tiny nose—god you can’t stop kissing her. I want you to know I still love you even though you almost never say the right thing— I know it bothers you too and i think it’s why you cried when i told you about that night they used my body and let the leaves swallow me whole, your water soaked words fell like rain predicted on the forecast honey are you sure you’re remembering it right. Your mind simply travels to other places, you’re used to distracting yourself because sometimes focus is too painful. your lips never stop moving its like they’re trying to run away from your own thoughts. I think i’m especially hard on you for this because i often find myself acting the same way and i become frustrated. it scares me. maybe because most of me wants to be nothing like you, and that makes me angry, at everyone, including me. You will silently promise her that you will be the greatest, most flawless of mothers. I wish you understood that my feminism is what enabled me to untangle the web of insecurity society planted in my “feeble” female brain, and helped me understand that you couldn’t do anything to stop it because it was planted in yours too. It’s what allows me to forgive you for trying out a million different diets and prodding me to try this tasty protein shake in place of breakfast and lunch, for not flinching when you opened a package with my name on it encased with weight loss pills i relied on my own hand to toss them in the trash where that fucking bullshit belongs, for tracing your eyes with eyeliner before and after a workout, half-listening to me as you pluck the invisible hairs on your upper lip, and squeezing your stomach in suspense as if determining whether or not you are worthy of sustenance, gazing at the sides of your arms in the mirror wishing they had the ability to make your body disappear and start from scratch.
You will love her always and with everything you have because in your eyes, she will be perfect. You are strong, you are resilient, like the tiny spiders whose bodies the rain always tries to drag, pull, wash away. They just try their best to survive. we’ve all gotta start loving spiders more. I’m sorry your life has gone so unexpectedly, certainly not according to the plan you had in mind. You just wanted a happy family with a loving husband and loving children, but maybe even that is ambitious these days. I’m not a pessimist or whatever, fuck it if i am?, I’m just a live, conscious human trying to figure it all out. aren’t we all. . . but how could i be an optimist? marriage and even the ideals of marriage which my mother became married to since the moment she said i do sucked her into an ocean blue with no surface and no bottom, are utterly illegible to me, like an antiquated language that if I tried to speak, the words would get stuck in my throat and i’d fall out of my chair rolling on the floor in a coughing fit of laughter we need a doctor over here!!! but maybe it’s an impressive thing to give in to the enticing ocean, even if it chews you up and spits you onto a shore which you were forced by a horrible horrible something to pick up the thousands of tiny glass pieces buried in the rough sand so that your feet would finally stop bleeding. It seems unfinished, because it is, but with every bit of writing, I come closer to deciphering you, me, and us. She will be yours. christ mom honey don’t use the Lord’s name in vain you are so beautiful. i love you. emily navarro
When the tears fall and the pain doesn’t go away. From the raging lips of her vagina, she screamed rape, And lamented the loss of her innocence. so now she fucks every man, all the while thinking of sending them crying back to the comforts of their mother’s wombs. Fetal position. She fucks them to their deaths the best fuck they’ll ever have. Her unbounded fury, spews from her decrepit mouth, the sorrow laden, degenerate body. scared by the memories of her childhood when daddy asked her to play mommy. She found love in the strangest places. She found herself in his sadness, His sobbing corpse. His tears gave her joy, She fed off the brine crystals for her daily fix. thabiso ratalane
amelia eskenazi
Gossamer I am not that quiet presence That will fit In your corners, your plans, The crook of your sleeve Your wit is gossamer And you need a woman Who can weave your world In the way of soft cotton Oregon Your body blurs You wear jackets in the bar As though your warmth travels with you As though you’re ready For the wild, unsettled Salt on the rim of your drink If you want to know What I think of you It’s thick, it’s slow It’s more of a home Than I ever want to know hannah fleming
eboni statham
music for your feminist ears honey do - beverly that time - regina spektor for our sake - gal pals snore bore whore - fight like apes teenage girl - cherry glazerr love is to die - warpaint beast - ex hex all dragged up - honeyblood easier said - sunflower beam bamboo - hinds loveblood - noun slutmouth - girlpool molly - palehound outside - tops la loose - waxahatchee where do you run to - vivian girls stay alive - wild balbina worry warrior - the tuts know what i want-kali uchis coming down - dum dum girls cherry bomb - the runaways as bad as i am - ruby the rabbitfoot raising the skate - speedy ortiz girls like us - leggy marry me archie - alvvays big big blood - la luz banshee - santigold toyz - missy elliot created by amelia eskenazi, hannah fleming, emma kearney
lukey walden
amelia eskenazi
“In other words, feminist porn works to serve those of us that are not usually served in mainstream porn. People of marginalized groups: trans people, people of color, people with disabilities, queer people, even women, can see images of themselves in porn that aren’t stereotyped, fetishized or degraded. It shows those of us that are usually portrayed in a one-dimensional way as real, sexual beings with valid desires and needs.”
njeri summey on feminist porn
chan bird