BOSSIER MINI - ZINE
FALL 2023
Photography by Serena Barish
Masculine and feminine roles are not biologically fixed but socially constructed. - Judith Butler -
Art by Leila Pagel
mini-zine team Director: Leila Pagel Mini Zine Team Madelyn Kausch Jasmine Criqui Ariana Ng Front Cover: Isabela Gomez Back Cover: Serena Barish
Contributors Bilquisu Abdullah Sara Amar Angelena B Serena Barish Jasmine Criqui
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Isabela Gomez Anouk Hirano Sydney Hudson Evalyn Lee Isabella Liu
t
le b a
of con tents
4 mini-zine team 5 table of contents 6 letter from the editor 8 A letter to _ _ _ _ _ _ by Isabela Gomez 9 panopticon by Angelena B 10 a letter to my lion by Anonymous 14 Are You In Line? by Serena Barish 16 the prettiest flowers get picked first by Sara Amar
art by Isabella Liu
18 i just wanted to dance by Evalyn Lee
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by Isabela Gomez
Art by Jasmine Criqui
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A letter to ________
Dear ________, I hope you suffocate on my femininity. That you smell my sickly sweet perfume and choke on it. I hope the sight of my glossed lips and blushed cheeks burns your eyes. I hope the highest notes of my voice hurt your ears and the softness of my hair scalds your skin. I hope my femininity kills you. That it bats its lashes and calls you “sweetie” and “cute” but with that tone. You know the one? The one calls you dumb and questions if you belong? Yah, that one. I hope that’s the last thing you hear. That it makes you feel so small that it’s like you’re not even there. That it makes you feel so small, no one could hear you. That you feel so small that you’re basically dead. And I hope that even dead, the stench of my perfume chokes you in the after life. With all my love, The girl in pink <3
_ panopticon _ by Angelena B. t rst it as my mother ho remin e me not to slou h ought me sparkly nail polish an a pink ra or r may e it as anta laus ho I as al ays on my est ehavior for ust in ase he looke my ay from the orth ole Then I think it as the oy I like in gra e s hool hose favorite an as the eatles ho I never talke to ut hope I oul impress y learning to play the guitar ut no that I think a out it it might have een o ho I as taught as ever present an al ays at hing ou are his reation of ourse e kno s your every thought. e kno s hat you’re going to o efore you o it. e ma e you. ou e ist for im. o I an never lame her my mother for e ere reate the same. I on er if I ill ever move ithout on si eration of the stories I tell onlookers.
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Photography by Sara Amar 9
a letter to my lion by Anonymous Dear *****, There are many things in this life to teach you. The world chose me, to love you. To love you when you are blue, And to show you what is true. The truth is, this world is cruel. This world will steal time And it will assign. Assign you roles you didn’t even know existed. Roles that overtime have persisted Despite the endless fights people like me have endured To make sure we never have to use the words “You are cured!” Over and Over and Over and Over and Over Again. You will be labeled And you will be disabled. This world will cripple you In ways I can’t forsee. This world chose me. The me that is black, That is short, That is femme That is queer
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That is scared That is anxious That is sad. And this world chose you. You laugh a giggly laugh that makes others smile. You play hide and seek even when we tell you not to. You can’t sit down for longer than 5 minutes. And distractions are a place where you feel comfortable. You cry when other people are hurt. You pour your heart out To 6 year old girls who don’t know quite yet how to see you. You like 6 hour car rides when you can get me to see the world through your eyes You like whispering in my ear “Didi, one day I want to be a girl.” You like when I say “Ok.” You are warm. I can’t wait until the day when I can show you people who were once like you. I can’t wait until the day when we can listen to “Sittin’ on The Dock of The Bay” by Otis Redding And I can say “Remember when?” But for now, I’ll just say
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It will tell you not to be you. It will tell you to make yourself small. And say “No you can’t.” But I am here to teach you, You are enough. You deserve respect And visibility. You can operate on crip time. You can operate on queer time. You can operate on colored people’s time. Because your time is valuable. Protect your spoons. For they are precious. When someone asks you questions you don’t want to answer You can turn your back. Because I’ll be there. There is a community of strong, beautiful believers of “Fuck Normal” And around them, you can be anything but normal. This is a community that has existed And will continue And persist. Hopefully, when you are older, This will be a community with an ever expanding care chain. A community where labels go to die if they are harmful instead of helpful.
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collage by Sara Amar
A community where we no longer have diagnosis trauma Or forced intimacy. A community where love wins everytime. A community where justice is innate rather than absent. A community where you can learn in a way that makes sense for you. And where you don’t burst into tears because your homework is boring. I know, I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you it gets better, but I too find myself still bored by most of my homework. And in tears. Until then, I’ll be here for you. The you that likes to share your food at lunch And paints pumpkin with me while we listen to Jazz music And tells me “Didi, you should do your homework.” The you That used to fit in my arms. And explain to me what cataclysms are. And coo softly into my shoulder. In a world, That wasn’t yet cruel, To people like you.
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Are You In Line?
Somewhere out there there’s a little girl in a bathroom realizing every week for the rest of her life she’ll have to plan when to shave her legs And somewhere out there there’s a little girl in a bathroom realizing every month for the rest of her life she’ll have to make excuses for her menstrual cramps Or a little girl in a bathroom realizing every day for the rest of her life she’ll check how her stomach folds over itself A little girl in a bathroom who will debate how much of her face to paint over who will doubt that she can dress herself the way she must who will push the skin up on her chest to imagine what it would feel like to have that body everyone else seems to have, a stomach that has no soft edges who will pull the hairs painfully one by one from her eyebrows and tell herself it will be worth it when she is pretty who will teach herself to fix her nails teach herself to be an expert on skincare teach herself how to live up to a standard that she will leave that bathroom and hate
by Serena Barish
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So the to an
ere om ek ife egs ere om nth fe
Somewhere out there there’s a little girl getting ready every night to lie in bed and dream of when she’s older But somewhere out there There’s an older girl Who everyone tells she takes too long to get ready Pausing to consider her hair And her makeup And did she shave Are her boobs out just the right amount Is her stomach folding over Will too many people look at her? Will anyone? There’s an older girl who walked to the bathroom with her friend so that she wouldn’t have to go alone There’s an older girl who looks back at old pictures and says every apology for how much she hated her appearance There’s an older girl getting ready every night to lie in bed and dream of when she was younger.
Photography by Sara Amar
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The Prettiest Flowers Get Picked First by Sara Amar god favors the beautiful yet he disfigures his most fragrant flowers swapping stripes for polka dots scarred salvias and sunflowers watch all the nymphs pick their spotless sisters they would weep if they had tears to spare soothing their bruised egos with platitudes the scorned bouquet feigns indifference, even contentment wouldn’t they rather be appalling and alive than lovely and lifeless? the chosen few snicker pressed between palms with their last breaths withering away they can scarcely whisper “Everyone wants this.”
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{12{ photography by Anouk Hirano
art by Sydney Hudson
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by Evalyn Lee
i just wanted to dance i reach for your hand but i look up and it’s a stranger it sounds like the world is underwater i was never a good swimmer they speak in my ear over the music their breath hot and syllables blurred no one can recognize themselves in the mirror on the wall people forget to look up at the sky but here you can’t see the stars.
Phot
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Bilqu ography b y isu A bdull ah
Photograp
hy by Sara
Amar
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