birthmark: anthology 2016

BIRTHMARK:

ANTHOLOGY 2016

gold in my head press april 2016

wellesley’s alternative maga(zine)

i like the way you say my name, slightly wrong but very right say it again, but slower know every inch of me i want to give to you an unblemished heart

this poem is about you (this poem is not about you): a lightly edited & expounded upon twitter poem

by jasmyne keimig ‘16

you are the honey and i am the drowned bee

dear reader, hello (again). thank you for picking up and opening this zine. i will be very real with you in saying that the response from last semester's birthmark was overwhelming, in almost every aspect. i could never have guessed that this project would receive the response that it did. i am grateful for it. thank you truly.

sometimes it is nice to have someone under your skin, for the company, but it is not a place someone should live but you do

this is the second and final installment of the zine. birthmark: anthology 2016 is diverse in its scope, breadth, depth, and experience. this project will not continue in this form once i go— birthmark ends with me. but it doesn't really actually end with me because the stories, poems, comics, etc. contained herein are yours (ours) to celebrate and keep with us (forever). continue to do, make, write, paint, playlist (a new verb!), and create in the name of "just because." because you can.

i mark all the emails u send me as unread so your name is always in my inbox, my home i want you to break me like teeth on the skin of a plum body horror it is sometimes ok to be laid bare and love this body that is a bit more embodied (in flesh, in fat, in bone, in nerves, etc.)

thank you to everyone who submitted. thank you to everyone who will read. thank you to everyone who encouraged me to continue. thank you to everyone who saved me even if you didn't know. birthmark is my love letter, my hymn, to you all in my own way.

i think i am beginning To understand my own appeal put me back together again in my body in anyway u see fit (but gently please) (i will only be touched lovingly) know what type of desire my body inspires "i'm trying to imagine a way of being that is spread thin and pulled together at the same time" me too but i wanna spread my love so [thick], so [far] and always with the touch of the sublime

i carry all of you, all of you, with me. i hope you carry me too. yours always, jasmyne

gaea

by audrey fok ‘18 you are many things but you are not sorry. you are climbing into the mouth of someone else, hands and stomach brimming full with another heart when you ask me to come back but I am tired of it all: the radio static and the hurting, the left behind peach pits and the tiptoeing out back doors. even the earth has started zipping my aching beneath her flesh because she doesn’t think love can bring me home anymore, and maybe she knows better than me; maybe this is how she will keep me safe.

by meredith wade ‘17

“staff” jasmyne keimig…….founder & editorin-chief elizabeth cho……co-editor cassandra flores montaño…..co-editor

Table of contents i am not—alice e. lee ‘18 what you can’t see ahead—kumari devarajan ‘17 #conversationpiece—elle friedberg ‘17 gringo—laura lópez ‘16 graduation requirements—emily mullin ‘16 love poems (i see you and i love you) —huiying chan ‘16 adventures of ash, an aspiring astrophysicist—ashley iguina ‘17 serenity’s corner: a playlist—serenity hughes ‘18 do you know the circumstances of your birth?—j.r.k. ‘16 & alessandra saluti ‘16 bruises—anna cauthorn ‘19 notes on the academic “love”—ks ‘17 untitled—ally ang ‘17

the scars of birthmark the story of the zodiac—cynthia chen ‘18 scene 4—so-yung mott ‘16 if i have a daughter—franzi ross ‘17 departure—serenity hughes ‘18 glass—anju madhok ‘18 untitled—alexa kasner ‘19 disappointment—dom steele ‘17 bullet lists, revisited—bozena scheidel ‘18 let me comma breathe—sahar ibrahim ‘16 untitled—suma cheru ‘18 tweets—anonymous untitled—meredith ausenbaugh ‘16 gaea—audrey fok ‘18 this poem is about you (this poem is not about you) —j.r.k. ‘16

by kyiah ashton ‘19

Untitled

by meredith ausenbaugh ‘16 I may not have your bigger, rounded nose or beat the earth as heavily as you did with your duck footed gait.

But that day, the day that I played through my mind and imagined for 2,190 days…

The men in suits and ties...

They told me I have traces of you within me.

I sit here and I wonder where you are within me.

I worry where you are within me.

The men in suits and ties, The women and old friends in full faces of makeup marked by soft tears…

They told me to look for the good, to celebrate the happy, to share the memories.

I sit here and I wonder where those are within me.

I worry where those are within me.

I think I don’t have the answers.

I think I won’t have the answers for a long time.

So for now I’ll put on my headphones.

I’ll dance a little too hard to Blink 182.

I’ll take a little too much pride in the sounds of John Mellencamp.

Just like you did.

i am not by alice e. lee (이은샘) ‘17 dear whites, please do not tell me u like korean bbq. please do not tell me i remind u of __(insert asian name here)__. please do not try to compliment my eyes as if i need ur validation. please do not tell me u've never been with an asian girl before. please do not try to guess my ethnicity. please do not tell me u've visited japan. please do not try to inform me about my own fucking culture. please do not expect me to drool after u, u stupid white "knight". please do not act like i am ur fucking white supremacist ally. please do not try to sensor what i say and how i say it. please do not tell me i am too aggressive for u -- i'm supposed to be ur submissive, asian fantasy...right? please stop making me say 'please'.

what you can’t see ahead.

by kumari devarajan ‘17

get here. tell your parents to leave. miss your parents. remember your parents suck. meet a girl. make a friend. lose a friend. forget a friend. don’t cut your hair. cut your hair. kiss a girl. kiss some boys. kiss the girl again. meet faces that are old and passing. make them your friends. watch your friends change. change. break your own heart. find your calling. realize callings are stupid. question your gender. find language to describe your experience. feel brown. feel dark as fuck. feel white. feel stupid. feel inadequate. feel fate. feel fleetingly smart. feel failure. listen to music. walk some times around the lake. walk across campus to increase your chances of maybe running into someone. try to impress somebody. hate snobs. find boring people and write them off. judge anyone and everyone around you. find your people. love your friends. love your people. kiss more girls. grow your hair. cut your hair. wear men’s clothes. be mistaken as a man. be talked about. be written about. hear rumors about you. make some money. lose money. spend money. study a little. try to find a professor that’s out there that you’re supposed to get super close to. throw up from drinking. smoke weed and have a panic attack. confess feelings. see your ex making out with someone. watch your girlfriend graduate. be glad your ex graduated. kiss a lot more girls. come. make a girl come. make yourself come. make yourself come a lot. fuck a girl. fuck a lot of girls. fuck some straight girls. get annoyed by biddies. Forget an old love. scream. cry. cut. mourn. wake up and tie your shoes. shit on white people. eat lunch. shit on white people. go to class. shit on white people. hang out in a room. shit on white people. find your gruesome, inevitable path. watch some acapella.

Talk to an athlete. Remember that time when you were an athlete. make a couple sammies. hold someone while they cry. find a girl crying alone. try to help. go for a run. do your laundry. eat a salad. eat pizza with ranch. never clean. split your ends. wear your holes. wear your ass.

Tweets

by anonymous

Untitled

by suma cheru ‘18 Beeep. Beeep. Beeeeeeep. Incessant honks resonate from the impatient auto rickshaw driver. He is angry with the aged woman who bears a twogallon jug of water on top of her head, vexed by her leisurely gait. He quickly passes her with a smirk. She is unaffected, smiles, and continues her steady stride along the rock-paved roads. Two young boys appear from a building entrance. They carry a carrom board (base for board game), ten times the size of both of them, with great tenacity. They lay the board out and begin their game, sweating initially, but chuckling and smiling widely at their feat. A lean man walks past them, yelling, “Bharata, muphta ki jamina!” (“India, the land of the free!”) He passionately waves a hand-sized flag, painted with vibrant colors of orange, green, and white, to the world.

Annoyance. Ease. Determination. Pride. The many ‘flavors’ of Indian cultureof my culture. Though they come from different families, cultures, and walks of life , I can’t help but draw a similarity among them: their shared feeling of being at home, in their country. My entire life, I’ve been asked, “Where are you from?” I respond, “Berkeley, California.” But then what follows is, “No, where are you REALLY from?” “Oh--India.” Even in America, the ‘nation of immigrants,’ my appearance often marks me as an outsider. Even though I’m an American by birth, I’ve never felt the natural ease of the aged woman or the pride of the man with the flag. I long for the ideal of ‘home’; perhaps that is India; perhaps that is on the periphery. Perhaps, and this is the most scary, it is nothing.

#conversation

piece elle friedberg ‘17 Medium: sculpture (cast plaster, cast plastic, paper, acrylic paint)

forward, With no rule book to tell me what’s right and wrong, When I speak Kutchi, there is nothing holding me back, I can speak for as long as I like, pausing as I like, because this is my language, this is my voice.

You usurped our word Khushhi, an expression of joy and happiness and turned it into cushy, turning it from a word describing a temperament of ease into a lazy, goodfor-nothing privilege, so that every time I hear it, my ears bleed with the cries of my people whose Khushhi you have taken, forming a canopy over our spirits through which no rays of light may penetrate.

How do you know when I need to take a breath How do you know when I’m pausing to think, to reflect, to surmise You tell me that I cannot breathe, but my lungs are empty now , , ,

So just let me comma breathe,

lina ye ‘17

Let Me Comma Breathe

by sahar ibrahim ‘16

When I was young I used to have a problem with commas My teachers told me to use the comma when I thought there should be a pause A pause between ideas A breath between thoughts So I did, I listened to the voice in my head But apparently the voice in my head was wrong Every time I stopped to think before putting pen to paper, committing thoughts to reality, I used that comma to communicate to you that I was thinking, that I was reflexive and aware of the consequences and power vested in the words that might come next,

Gringo

by laura lópez ‘16 you can't understand the weight of the yellows the faith in my blues i live my life in color. you laugh at the stiffness of the taffeta my fifteen year old cousin in her crinkling dress. quinceañera. you mock her royalty. disrespect our sacred bonds of refresco and gold tequila and bailes sorpresas. black and white is what you know white is what you prefer a lack of color. or one engulfing all?

But you, you didn’t hear me You saw only black letters peppering a blank page, But the page isn’t blank, it was never blank, And yet all I could inscribe upon it’s surface was a darkness so profound that it reached into the fathoms of a silence so deep and tore it apart from its very core, You saw only black letters peppering a blank page, And in between them, you saw my commas, But you did not hear them You told me that I used too many commas in my writing You told me that the commas made my sentences run on and on and on, But somehow they weren’t going fast enough, Because there are rules Rules that were preventing me from coming up to inhale for fresh air Rules that wanted me to keep my head down and keep moving forward Rules that erased the pictures that coloured the words in my mind Because apparently you’re not supposed to pause between certain thoughts Apparently, you’re not supposed to stop to think at all.

The first language I ever learned was kutchhi, an indian dialect, a spoken language not written in books, but etched in the hearts of those who carry it

now that I've traded you for the warmth of twilight canciones food too hot for you besos on tan cheeks and carne asada cooked brown and stiff. I'm convinced. you could never get me to eat medium rare. we were tibios lukewarm. incapable of creating fire.

I never glowed. but you lit up with the triumph of a colonial fantasy. a mexican girl sans melanin because you can't understand the depth behind the green green is not exportable greed and poverty even our currency has more colors green is pasture for my pa's cows Paloma, la guapa. the gorgeous one with the dark brown eyelashes. white is what you know in a world replete with color

graduation requirements

bullet lists, revisited

I read so many things today: -two of the awls genius interviews show off!

-my own tweets ego...carry yourself away! (but, why punish myself?)

-a job application SEE ABOVE a chapter of hilton als’ white girls cease! see above -a text shoved under my nose that said “you are pretty as fuck and deserve the best head ever that’s all I wanted to say” well, true.

-the lyrics to fourth of july interesting to “be into” someone very unrelatable -3 emails pitiful -my own body well, jul 3 2015//mar 1 2106

by emily mullin ‘16

by bozena scheidel ‘18

a List of reminders to myself: -smelling today i put on rose oil cause i wanted to smell like roses like my grandma and when i asked my friend how i smelled she didn't say roses -being intimidated stupid and very very good -being in control of my time as often as possible a good try a Solid Effort -remembering why certain discomforts are so good and necessary see above july 12 2015 //feb 23 2016

ppl I’ve thought “oh my god I love her” about within last 18 hr: -my grandma who gracefully puts up with my grandpas bullshit lucky lucky LUCKY!!!!! i'm lucky -my friend who is tenaciously and vibrantly glowing i really don't know who this was written about i've been thinking and i can't pin it down -my coworker who reminds me how important limes, pepsi and a hard ass can be and TONIC WATER! and putting your feet up july 11 2015//feb 23 2016 anyway -I gotta take care of myself well duh! stuff we’re looking for: -I gotta live in a good place that doesn’t crowd me i wanna find one -braveheart is a serious movie??? That the academy thought was worth 5 oscars??? ok clearly reaching for some kind of relatability. this was a journal, who was my audience?

-beauty is definitely terror yes, blah, yes, it’s true, are we tired yet?!

-I gotta be brave and good and fair yeah, I’ve gotta aug 23 2015//mar 1 2016

love poems (i see you and i love you)

huiying chan '16

1. when you walk in this institution built on white supremacy, in these walls of hundred year old paintings of founders hall, pristine plundered lake waters and sculpted trees of a college that has not changed, there is something that weighs you down. you do not know what it is. this feeling will have you pinpointing yourself you as the problem but know that each step you take, every phrase you speak in courses with refined white girls (who benefit from white supremacy and are still mediocre) is you fighting back with energy that together changes these walls each day. i need you. do you know your effect? we need you. every single space we create that brings together the energy of students of color is a rippling revolution. we are not the only ones. we have never been the only ones.

2. pledge to academia

by jordan mayfield ‘18

each time i cry, i cry a little less later the tears i shed build my armor to come back and fight you even stronger academia will not win this psychological warfare

you will not have my name i will take yours take the parts that i want & leave you dedicate the rest of my life to not even destroying your name but destroying the ivory pillars on which you stand i will do that simply by knowing that you do not define me i am not grateful to you for shit and i have long won.

3. for you who has loud invisible thoughts of self-destruction: as you are. as you are. you will always be enough as you are. you are enough as you are. for you who loves fiercely because you want to live the kind of love you did not have. from pain there will always be the fight that wins you will win. you are not your traumatic past that is not your only story do not let anyone try to take it and tell it for you.

there will be a day you are finally breathing i swear there will be moments that come unexpectedly when you giggle again like you're five i swear there is a love you have not felt yet. i hope today you hold your breath a little less because if you think about it we did it. we have won. you have long won. as you are

They see the scar and think of what I did to myself. They think it’s so ugly.

But they don’t think about the sign.

I don't think I'll ever get those parts back. then, it’s out overnight it’s started to heal I rinse it out and look at it for a while.

I can see the times those times from before when I held myself when I gave myself space to be to think to see where my lobes started reconnecting.

I can think for myself now. next day another one out A month until it started to scar.

I kept his sign.

It’s in the room in the upper corner of his house with the window facing the front.

You can see into that room from the street, especially when I used to leave the light on.

He hated that.

He apologizes now for saying what he said but I can tell that the part of him that drilled those nails in is still there and they still look at me like I'm losing pieces of my soul.

I see growth and healing and the fact that I’m here.

by lucy anderle ‘16

for the second time.

M13. June 2013.

A globular cluster taken by my research partner and I with the obs' 24" reflector.

I used to pick at the scabs from the nights that I tried to pry the nails from my skull. the pain was too much.

The inside of my cheeks were gummy ridges and sore spots.

I would pass out by the time I’d made any progress.

Those nights meant migraines and wet pillows.

Adventures of Ash, an Aspiring Astrophysicist By ashley iguina ‘17

Lady of the Night. September 2015.

This is me, practicing Brujería during the Super Blood Moon (a.k.a spreading my love for astronomy during the lunar eclipse at perigee for an impromptu public night at the obs).

I used to pick at the scabs from those nights and think that I would never get the damn things out.

In between those nights I held myself: You have worth.

You are not a mistake.

But the rust from those nails had started to set in My thoughts would get crossed.

I would push a nail back in a little to see if I could still feel and if I could still remember the reason I was putting myself through so much to get it out.

I pulled and bled and scratched. and bled and scratched.

One nail is almost out.

His sign is a little crooked.

I know I have to pull it out before the wound starts to heal or it’ll hurt more next time.

Some days, I don’t think I’ll ever get the nails out

Disappointment.

I'M SO HAPPY TONIGHT!

You are a disappointment.

I finally spotted Andromeda Galaxy (with the help of my star charts and the free app stellarium). When I did research in 2013, I was able to find all faint fuzzies but Andromeda. I continued my attempt in the fall before taking leave but was unsuccessful :(. It is the furthest object one can see with the naked eye (if you have good eyesight, unlike my glasses wearing self).

by dom steele ‘17

The spit from his words drilled nails into my forehead.

He used the them, the nails, to hang his bulletin: disappointment each syllable enunciated as clearly as his translucency.

My mother didn't say anything not really.

I used the very familiar constellation Cassiopeia shaped like a W to orient myself and further west, I spotted the great square of Pegasus and the constellation Andromeda. Using the constellation Andromeda and my binoculars, I "star-hopped" and spotted a faint but fuzzy source of light shaped almost like an ellipse. I knew instantly it was our spiral neighbor, the Andromeda Galaxy.

My next goal is to use a telescope to get a better view of it. I can't wait.

Some parts of me thought I deserved it. God, I used to be such an asshole. because I was afraid of listening and being hurt and not being able to hear myself over him.

# I did not cry today but I felt like it. Instead, I took a 3 hour long nap. I did miserably on my math exam and it will take a miracle (i.e. lots of studying I have to somehow have the energy for) to do well on my final to pull my grade up. I'm not doing so well in my other classes either. I feel stuck. I don't know how to overcome this feeling of being a failure.

I pick at the nails wondering if I even knew what it meant to love unconditionally.

Because that's what this was supposed to be and I deserved it.

# I am a girl of color from Harlem, NYC on a journey to explore the universe and to make it more accessible for girls like me.

I get awful migraines.

Sometimes it’s the light.

Sometimes it’s the nails.

Sometimes I just haven't eaten.

Sometimes it’s the nails.

Sometimes I just can’t eat.

Sometimes it’s the nails.

So I clean the kitchen first.

I brush the crumbs from his bread off the counter for the third time and I wash his glass with a clean swipe across the rim

#

My People by Langston Hughes The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people.

The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people.

Beautiful, also, is the sun.

Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people. #

Untitled

by alexa kasner ‘19

I was in the Davis with my art history class a couple of weeks ago and as we were looking at the statue my professor was having us analyze, I noticed the fig leaf covering the figure’s nether regions. It reminded me of this time when I was about 7 or 8 when I went into my old photo albums and covered all of the pictures I was naked in with leaf stickers. I don’t remember why I did this but I think it’s pretty amusing. I had my mom send me some of the pictures.

Glass by anju madhok ‘18

by kyiah ashton ‘19

Fake The teenagers with their baggy jeans, white t-shirts, and medium length dreadlocks footworking to music only a Chicagoan would recognize; the little boys with Black skin that glistens with sweat when in the sun, who beat on buckets to raise money; the little Black girls with their colorful burettes swinging in the air unapologetically, who dance to the DLow Shuffle and Jukeslide; the Black faces huddled in Harold’s Chicken Shack every day of the week, waiting patiently for their order of 4 wings with extra mild sauce to be ready. The music. The food. The dances. The smell. The colors. The spirit. The people. The culture. The love…did not mean anything to me. They were not important enough to me. Because I am a traitor.

I am scum.

Do you know the circumstances of your birth?

I am scarred

by jasmyne keimig ’16 dictated to alessandra saluti ‘16

As I sit here in Wellesley, not worrying about my safety, not worrying about my next meal, not worrying about housing, not worrying about my freedom, I battle with knowing that I left behind a City full of people who worry about those things. I left I left my family and friends imminent danger. I left my family and friends in inevitable poverty. I left my family and friends to beat the system alone. I left them.

I left them. I did not look back.

“I don’t remember any of it so anything that you hear from here on out is purely secondhand knowledge. Uhm… but just a little background…I am the product of a mixed race coupling. My father is a white man from Kansas and my mom is a black woman from Kansas and they both met when my father was coming back from Saudi Arabia when he was 20 or 21—having fought in the 1st Gulf War. My mother was also in the army. She was in charge of getting the soldiers acclimated back to real life… and my dad thought my mom was hitting on him and so they flirted and were friends and eventually got together as a couple. Which was like, in the early 90s… I think it was still kind of weird for mixed race couples to exist and uhm like super openly at least When they were both the equivalent of juniors or sophomores in college 23 or 24, I was created. So they were stupid pretty much. Having a child in college is kind of dumb, if you have a choice.

One night my mom told me about the night I was conceived because I was 15 and I was struggling with depression and like feeling like I’m a person and that I have a purpose and stuff.

I remember it was really rainy and my mom was sick of hearing me moping and she was like sit down I’m gonna tell you about how you were created

My scar is not visible, but my scar grows deeper everyday. I think to myself ”the more time you spend away from Chicago, the more you will become fake.”

Then I realize, I already am…because I am an abandoner, a traitor, scum, selfish, and an elitist who does not care about anyone but herself.

by a.b.w. ’19

Departure

by serenity hughes ‘18 I am a traitor.

I am scum.

I betrayed my family.

I betrayed my friends.

I betrayed my City …..by coming to Wellesley I am from the South Side of Chicago, which is not the ideal place for a child to grow up. Gangs, drugs, and poorly performing schools are the norm.

Abandoned homes, trash-infested alleys, and boarded-up businesses seem like the only tourist attractions. Police and ambulance sirens were the only sounds that I seemed to hear Poverty Institutionalized Racism Horrible Housing Systems Deceit Invisibility Danger DANGER

From what I remember she was like it was a night like this one—it was stormy and rainy and we were in my dorm room and we just kind of looked at each other and knew that something monumental had just happened. I think she was pretty much trying to tell me that they didn’t use a condom and that they were both gonna make a baby. She said it just felt monumental That’s when the zygote was created… so that’s the circumstance My mom was 23 when she had me. She said that she would walk up and down this giant hill to get to class and eventually she had to sit at the front of the lecture hall because her belly was too big to fit into the weird seats.

She said she would walk up the hill, puke in the same building every day and just continue along her way.

I was born on June 7th, 1994. Which I just learned was a Tuesday and I think I was born at like 1:30 AM I was my mom’s first child… so she was obviously fucked up and scared.

She was also like oh I’m not gonna use any drugs and pills, and then she was like “but then I asked for it a lot” because she was in so much pain.

Also, you’re not allowed to eat… and my dad being the stupid 24 year old man he is went out with her older brother—my mom’s older brother and got McDonalds and brought it into the delivery room and my mom was like “fuck you guys… take that shit out of here! I am starving! I can only eat ice chips” And then I eventually popped out and the rest was history. Little brown baby born in Kansas City, Missouri at Saint Luke’s hospital… uhm so yeah.

My parents got married like two months afterwards in Las Vegas. So they left their 7 week year old child… newborn daughter and went to Caesar’s Palace and got married. My mom looked super hot, I can show you the pictures.

I ran away from it. I jolted away from it. I flew away from it. I sought safety. I sought security. I sought freedom. I broke away from the chains. I broke away from the inferiority. I forced myself to break away from those who are still in chains. I abandoned my family. I abandoned my friends. I abandoned my City. I abandoned everything that I knew. All because I am

I was born 7 pounds 14 ounces on June 7th… I have seven letters in my name. My dad chose my name… Jasmyne

Selfish

So yeah…that’s kind of the quick and dirty version of the circumstances of my birth… that’s how I came to be on this planet….”

An Elitist

He saw jasmine when he was fighting in Saudi Arabia like growing in people’s gardens.. and he was like I’m gonna name my daughter that.

Bruises

by anna cauthorn ‘19 The last time we fucked your fingers pressed so hard into my arm they left bruises one two three four oval-shaped purplegreen stains And it’s funny because I don’t know which makes me sadder— Looking at those bruises and remembering that You Were There (telling me you loved me, breathing into my ear, our bodies coalescing into sweet, anesthetic madness) or Watching them fade, that last reminder evidence that for two hours and forty-two minutes (or maybe it was almost a month) you let yourself need me Last night I pretended closing my eyes that the guy I was with was you It didn’t work

by franzi ross ‘17

by a.b.w. ‘19

NOTES ON THE ACADEMIC “LOVE“ KS ‘17 anthropology, an unending search for what is utterly precious why do states pursue power?

all great powers are potential

enemies why do we do the things we do: • •

the homoerotic advertising spreads, the ironic style in journalism and literature the fashions on the street, the new political calculus

this is a culture of openness and lot of queer people are in coops, I guess as opposed to societies?

by anjali benjamin-webb ‘19

again and

but both are self selective??

again and

I notice there are all these little scratches all over me today

again so that they will never heal completely. it’s a constellation of your universe a secret map that is utterly incomplete because when you gave birth to me you left an imprint on my body… but forgot to give me the other half

one is from the cat I think but the other is from her hand, long and full of ligaments, ringed with experience, painful itching, I apologize while she defends

but

when you’re a hegemon, survival is almost a definitive guarantee you can look for opportunities to gain power at the expense of potential adversaries

so when I look in the broken mirror illuminated only by my secret companions i trace that half formed constellation over and over again hoping to find my way back home

great powers have aggressive intentions pursuit of power stops only when hegemony is achieved it’s difficult to assess how much relative power makes a state secure states do not become status quo states until they dominate the system fuck you and your power dynamics: do

you want me to wait for you? yes or no

Untitled

that might never be answered

by ally ang ‘17

and so those are your only witnesses

my body lies in ashes.

I have destroyed and rebuilt it countless times. it is a ritual: when my body becomes a territory too painful to occupy, I set it aflame.

I am unkind. the only way I know how to apologize is to burn. my body lies in ashes and I am learning to mourn. holding myself in a glass jar feels like holding my breath, waiting to let go. and so, I exhale scattering my ashes across the earth that teaches me to be sturdy and strong, that teaches me to be unafraid to take up space.

I scatter my ashes across the oceans that have forged my identity over generations that are constantly changing and growing unapologetic.

I scatter my ashes unto the wind letting them drift away until they disappear and I am unbound.

silence and darkness

your trusted companions taking you to a world that you do not want to see…. because how can you bear to face what you do not know? you’re scared of the dark you say? it holds too many truths? it’s a mirror of your fears so you close you’re eyes hoping that sleep will come quickly that it will drown out the sound of the rising water that threatens to create salty rivers and streams down your face but they don’t listen darkness and silence softly touch one another… melting together forming a broken mirror a movie on replay that you can’t seem to stop a gentle echo that digs at the small scars scattered all across your body opening them again and

? would you tell me you love me… ? i mean do you ever wake up and wonder just where do you come from? where is the woman who gave birth to you? who held you for nine months inside of her carrying you nurturing you protecting you… gave birth to you perhaps one of the softest forms of intimacy that we could ever hope to experience where is the woman who was tied to you with a cord that stretched across a lifespan reaching the center of creation? what kind of questions keep you up at night? make you toss and turn following no rhythm but your own you lying there wrapped in a blanket of discomfort with no one to listen to you but silence itself and those dark shadows just waiting to eat up your questions

by lina ye ‘17

the scars of birthmark

here with us! And we love you very much too. We chose you. And you’ll always be a part of our family.

[Luke continues to sniffle quietly as Leia holds him. The lights dim on those two and the lights go up on Luke on another part of the stage. This is as if his subconscious is speaking] Luke: “fragments” when I was a child sometimes i would let my eyes wander to the ceiling of my bunk bed and just stare my eyes boring relentlessly into those wooden panels but my heart well it was somewhere else entirely they tell me that you gave me up because you couldn’t take care of me you loved me and so you decided to put me up for adoption that you wanted me to have a better life but what would you tell me? if my eyes could find your eyes and we could look into each other’s soul what truths would I see? what would you tell me? would you tell me that you think about me… ? would you tell me that you haven’t forgotten about me…

Scene 4

by so-yung mott ‘16 [the stage should be divided into two bedrooms. Luke is lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His bed should be fairly messy, like he’s been tossing and turning restlessly. In the other room, Leia is on her bed, apparently asleep.]

Luke: [he’s been crying softly. slowly rolls over, gets up and goes to Leia’s room. Softly knocks] Leia? Leia, are you awake?

Leia: [from behind the door] Yeah. Why? [luke opens the door, peeks in and then walks over to leia’s bed] Is everything okay? [small pause] Luke: I want my mom.

Leia: Luke, she’s in the other room [slightly annoyed]. Why are you – Luke: [looking straight at Leia] No! [a little more quietly] I want my real mom…[turns head away] [pause. Leia shifts around on her bed uncomfortably.]

Leia: [spoken softly and gently] Luke…Mom is your real mom. You know that. I mean -- she didn’t give birth to you, but she’s the one who’s raising you. And she loves you very much. [Leia carefully takes Luke into her arms and holds him as she sits on the bed. Luke is cradled up on her lap, his head resting against her chest. He starts to cry again, softly. Speaking between hiccups] Luke: But I miss my Mom…I can’t help it. It just hurts. [small pause. He looks up into Leia’s face, as if looking for reassurance] Do you think -- do you think she ever thinks about me?

Leia: [looking down into Luke’s face] Of course she thinks about you. Luke, I’m sure your birth mom loved you very much. I mean even though she couldn’t take care of you herself, she loved you enough to give you up for adoption…because she wanted you to have a better life. And now you’re

by cynthia chen ‘18

by cynthia chen ‘18

Scene 4

by so-yung mott ‘16 [the stage should be divided into two bedrooms. Luke is lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His bed should be fairly messy, like he’s been tossing and turning restlessly. In the other room, Leia is on her bed, apparently asleep.]

Luke: [he’s been crying softly. slowly rolls over, gets up and goes to Leia’s room. Softly knocks] Leia? Leia, are you awake?

Leia: [from behind the door] Yeah. Why? [luke opens the door, peeks in and then walks over to leia’s bed] Is everything okay? [small pause] Luke: I want my mom.

Leia: Luke, she’s in the other room [slightly annoyed]. Why are you – Luke: [looking straight at Leia] No! [a little more quietly] I want my real mom…[turns head away] [pause. Leia shifts around on her bed uncomfortably.]

Leia: [spoken softly and gently] Luke…Mom is your real mom. You know that. I mean -- she didn’t give birth to you, but she’s the one who’s raising you. And she loves you very much. [Leia carefully takes Luke into her arms and holds him as she sits on the bed. Luke is cradled up on her lap, his head resting against her chest. He starts to cry again, softly. Speaking between hiccups] Luke: But I miss my Mom…I can’t help it. It just hurts. [small pause. He looks up into Leia’s face, as if looking for reassurance] Do you think -- do you think she ever thinks about me?

Leia: [looking down into Luke’s face] Of course she thinks about you. Luke, I’m sure your birth mom loved you very much. I mean even though she couldn’t take care of you herself, she loved you enough to give you up for adoption…because she wanted you to have a better life. And now you’re

the scars of birthmark

here with us! And we love you very much too. We chose you. And you’ll always be a part of our family.

[Luke continues to sniffle quietly as Leia holds him. The lights dim on those two and the lights go up on Luke on another part of the stage. This is as if his subconscious is speaking] Luke: “fragments” when I was a child sometimes i would let my eyes wander to the ceiling of my bunk bed and just stare my eyes boring relentlessly into those wooden panels but my heart well it was somewhere else entirely they tell me that you gave me up because you couldn’t take care of me you loved me and so you decided to put me up for adoption that you wanted me to have a better life but what would you tell me? if my eyes could find your eyes and we could look into each other’s soul what truths would I see? what would you tell me? would you tell me that you think about me… ? would you tell me that you haven’t forgotten about me…

? would you tell me you love me… ? i mean do you ever wake up and wonder just where do you come from? where is the woman who gave birth to you? who held you for nine months inside of her carrying you nurturing you protecting you… gave birth to you perhaps one of the softest forms of intimacy that we could ever hope to experience where is the woman who was tied to you with a cord that stretched across a lifespan reaching the center of creation? what kind of questions keep you up at night? make you toss and turn following no rhythm but your own you lying there wrapped in a blanket of discomfort with no one to listen to you but silence itself and those dark shadows just waiting to eat up your questions

by lina ye ‘17

Untitled

that might never be answered

by ally ang ‘17

and so those are your only witnesses

my body lies in ashes.

I have destroyed and rebuilt it countless times. it is a ritual: when my body becomes a territory too painful to occupy, I set it aflame.

I am unkind. the only way I know how to apologize is to burn. my body lies in ashes and I am learning to mourn. holding myself in a glass jar feels like holding my breath, waiting to let go. and so, I exhale scattering my ashes across the earth that teaches me to be sturdy and strong, that teaches me to be unafraid to take up space.

I scatter my ashes across the oceans that have forged my identity over generations that are constantly changing and growing unapologetic.

I scatter my ashes unto the wind letting them drift away until they disappear and I am unbound.

silence and darkness

your trusted companions taking you to a world that you do not want to see…. because how can you bear to face what you do not know? you’re scared of the dark you say? it holds too many truths? it’s a mirror of your fears so you close you’re eyes hoping that sleep will come quickly that it will drown out the sound of the rising water that threatens to create salty rivers and streams down your face but they don’t listen darkness and silence softly touch one another… melting together forming a broken mirror a movie on replay that you can’t seem to stop a gentle echo that digs at the small scars scattered all across your body opening them again and

again and

but both are self selective??

again and

I notice there are all these little scratches all over me today

again so that they will never heal completely. it’s a constellation of your universe a secret map that is utterly incomplete because when you gave birth to me you left an imprint on my body… but forgot to give me the other half

one is from the cat I think but the other is from her hand, long and full of ligaments, ringed with experience, painful itching, I apologize while she defends

but

when you’re a hegemon, survival is almost a definitive guarantee you can look for opportunities to gain power at the expense of potential adversaries

so when I look in the broken mirror illuminated only by my secret companions i trace that half formed constellation over and over again hoping to find my way back home

great powers have aggressive intentions pursuit of power stops only when hegemony is achieved it’s difficult to assess how much relative power makes a state secure states do not become status quo states until they dominate the system fuck you and your power dynamics: do

you want me to wait for you? yes or no

by a.b.w. ‘19

NOTES ON THE ACADEMIC “LOVE“ KS ‘17 anthropology, an unending search for what is utterly precious why do states pursue power?

all great powers are potential

enemies why do we do the things we do: • •

the homoerotic advertising spreads, the ironic style in journalism and literature the fashions on the street, the new political calculus

this is a culture of openness and lot of queer people are in coops, I guess as opposed to societies?

by anjali benjamin-webb ‘19

by franzi ross ‘17

Bruises

by anna cauthorn ‘19 The last time we fucked your fingers pressed so hard into my arm they left bruises one two three four oval-shaped purplegreen stains And it’s funny because I don’t know which makes me sadder— Looking at those bruises and remembering that You Were There (telling me you loved me, breathing into my ear, our bodies coalescing into sweet, anesthetic madness) or Watching them fade, that last reminder evidence that for two hours and forty-two minutes (or maybe it was almost a month) you let yourself need me Last night I pretended closing my eyes that the guy I was with was you It didn’t work

Departure

by serenity hughes ‘18 I am a traitor.

I am scum.

I betrayed my family.

I betrayed my friends.

I betrayed my City …..by coming to Wellesley I am from the South Side of Chicago, which is not the ideal place for a child to grow up. Gangs, drugs, and poorly performing schools are the norm.

Abandoned homes, trash-infested alleys, and boarded-up businesses seem like the only tourist attractions. Police and ambulance sirens were the only sounds that I seemed to hear Poverty Institutionalized Racism Horrible Housing Systems Deceit Invisibility Danger DANGER

From what I remember she was like it was a night like this one—it was stormy and rainy and we were in my dorm room and we just kind of looked at each other and knew that something monumental had just happened. I think she was pretty much trying to tell me that they didn’t use a condom and that they were both gonna make a baby. She said it just felt monumental That’s when the zygote was created… so that’s the circumstance My mom was 23 when she had me. She said that she would walk up and down this giant hill to get to class and eventually she had to sit at the front of the lecture hall because her belly was too big to fit into the weird seats.

She said she would walk up the hill, puke in the same building every day and just continue along her way.

I was born on June 7th, 1994. Which I just learned was a Tuesday and I think I was born at like 1:30 AM I was my mom’s first child… so she was obviously fucked up and scared.

She was also like oh I’m not gonna use any drugs and pills, and then she was like “but then I asked for it a lot” because she was in so much pain.

Also, you’re not allowed to eat… and my dad being the stupid 24 year old man he is went out with her older brother—my mom’s older brother and got McDonalds and brought it into the delivery room and my mom was like “fuck you guys… take that shit out of here! I am starving! I can only eat ice chips” And then I eventually popped out and the rest was history. Little brown baby born in Kansas City, Missouri at Saint Luke’s hospital… uhm so yeah.

My parents got married like two months afterwards in Las Vegas. So they left their 7 week year old child… newborn daughter and went to Caesar’s Palace and got married. My mom looked super hot, I can show you the pictures.

I ran away from it. I jolted away from it. I flew away from it. I sought safety. I sought security. I sought freedom. I broke away from the chains. I broke away from the inferiority. I forced myself to break away from those who are still in chains. I abandoned my family. I abandoned my friends. I abandoned my City. I abandoned everything that I knew. All because I am

I was born 7 pounds 14 ounces on June 7th… I have seven letters in my name. My dad chose my name… Jasmyne

Selfish

So yeah…that’s kind of the quick and dirty version of the circumstances of my birth… that’s how I came to be on this planet….”

An Elitist

He saw jasmine when he was fighting in Saudi Arabia like growing in people’s gardens.. and he was like I’m gonna name my daughter that.

Fake The teenagers with their baggy jeans, white t-shirts, and medium length dreadlocks footworking to music only a Chicagoan would recognize; the little boys with Black skin that glistens with sweat when in the sun, who beat on buckets to raise money; the little Black girls with their colorful burettes swinging in the air unapologetically, who dance to the DLow Shuffle and Jukeslide; the Black faces huddled in Harold’s Chicken Shack every day of the week, waiting patiently for their order of 4 wings with extra mild sauce to be ready. The music. The food. The dances. The smell. The colors. The spirit. The people. The culture. The love…did not mean anything to me. They were not important enough to me. Because I am a traitor.

I am scum.

Do you know the circumstances of your birth?

I am scarred

by jasmyne keimig ’16 dictated to alessandra saluti ‘16

As I sit here in Wellesley, not worrying about my safety, not worrying about my next meal, not worrying about housing, not worrying about my freedom, I battle with knowing that I left behind a City full of people who worry about those things. I left I left my family and friends imminent danger. I left my family and friends in inevitable poverty. I left my family and friends to beat the system alone. I left them.

I left them. I did not look back.

“I don’t remember any of it so anything that you hear from here on out is purely secondhand knowledge. Uhm… but just a little background…I am the product of a mixed race coupling. My father is a white man from Kansas and my mom is a black woman from Kansas and they both met when my father was coming back from Saudi Arabia when he was 20 or 21—having fought in the 1st Gulf War. My mother was also in the army. She was in charge of getting the soldiers acclimated back to real life… and my dad thought my mom was hitting on him and so they flirted and were friends and eventually got together as a couple. Which was like, in the early 90s… I think it was still kind of weird for mixed race couples to exist and uhm like super openly at least When they were both the equivalent of juniors or sophomores in college 23 or 24, I was created. So they were stupid pretty much. Having a child in college is kind of dumb, if you have a choice.

One night my mom told me about the night I was conceived because I was 15 and I was struggling with depression and like feeling like I’m a person and that I have a purpose and stuff.

I remember it was really rainy and my mom was sick of hearing me moping and she was like sit down I’m gonna tell you about how you were created

My scar is not visible, but my scar grows deeper everyday. I think to myself ”the more time you spend away from Chicago, the more you will become fake.”

Then I realize, I already am…because I am an abandoner, a traitor, scum, selfish, and an elitist who does not care about anyone but herself.

by a.b.w. ’19

Glass by anju madhok ‘18

by kyiah ashton ‘19

Untitled

by alexa kasner ‘19

I was in the Davis with my art history class a couple of weeks ago and as we were looking at the statue my professor was having us analyze, I noticed the fig leaf covering the figure’s nether regions. It reminded me of this time when I was about 7 or 8 when I went into my old photo albums and covered all of the pictures I was naked in with leaf stickers. I don’t remember why I did this but I think it’s pretty amusing. I had my mom send me some of the pictures.

Disappointment.

I'M SO HAPPY TONIGHT!

You are a disappointment.

I finally spotted Andromeda Galaxy (with the help of my star charts and the free app stellarium). When I did research in 2013, I was able to find all faint fuzzies but Andromeda. I continued my attempt in the fall before taking leave but was unsuccessful :(. It is the furthest object one can see with the naked eye (if you have good eyesight, unlike my glasses wearing self).

by dom steele ‘17

The spit from his words drilled nails into my forehead.

He used the them, the nails, to hang his bulletin: disappointment each syllable enunciated as clearly as his translucency.

My mother didn't say anything not really.

I used the very familiar constellation Cassiopeia shaped like a W to orient myself and further west, I spotted the great square of Pegasus and the constellation Andromeda. Using the constellation Andromeda and my binoculars, I "star-hopped" and spotted a faint but fuzzy source of light shaped almost like an ellipse. I knew instantly it was our spiral neighbor, the Andromeda Galaxy.

My next goal is to use a telescope to get a better view of it. I can't wait.

Some parts of me thought I deserved it. God, I used to be such an asshole. because I was afraid of listening and being hurt and not being able to hear myself over him.

# I did not cry today but I felt like it. Instead, I took a 3 hour long nap. I did miserably on my math exam and it will take a miracle (i.e. lots of studying I have to somehow have the energy for) to do well on my final to pull my grade up. I'm not doing so well in my other classes either. I feel stuck. I don't know how to overcome this feeling of being a failure.

I pick at the nails wondering if I even knew what it meant to love unconditionally.

Because that's what this was supposed to be and I deserved it.

# I am a girl of color from Harlem, NYC on a journey to explore the universe and to make it more accessible for girls like me.

I get awful migraines.

Sometimes it’s the light.

Sometimes it’s the nails.

Sometimes I just haven't eaten.

Sometimes it’s the nails.

Sometimes I just can’t eat.

Sometimes it’s the nails.

So I clean the kitchen first.

I brush the crumbs from his bread off the counter for the third time and I wash his glass with a clean swipe across the rim

#

My People by Langston Hughes The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people.

The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people.

Beautiful, also, is the sun.

Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people. #

for the second time.

M13. June 2013.

A globular cluster taken by my research partner and I with the obs' 24" reflector.

I used to pick at the scabs from the nights that I tried to pry the nails from my skull. the pain was too much.

The inside of my cheeks were gummy ridges and sore spots.

I would pass out by the time I’d made any progress.

Those nights meant migraines and wet pillows.

Adventures of Ash, an Aspiring Astrophysicist By ashley iguina ‘17

Lady of the Night. September 2015.

This is me, practicing Brujería during the Super Blood Moon (a.k.a spreading my love for astronomy during the lunar eclipse at perigee for an impromptu public night at the obs).

I used to pick at the scabs from those nights and think that I would never get the damn things out.

In between those nights I held myself: You have worth.

You are not a mistake.

But the rust from those nails had started to set in My thoughts would get crossed.

I would push a nail back in a little to see if I could still feel and if I could still remember the reason I was putting myself through so much to get it out.

I pulled and bled and scratched. and bled and scratched.

One nail is almost out.

His sign is a little crooked.

I know I have to pull it out before the wound starts to heal or it’ll hurt more next time.

Some days, I don’t think I’ll ever get the nails out

I don't think I'll ever get those parts back. then, it’s out overnight it’s started to heal I rinse it out and look at it for a while.

I can see the times those times from before when I held myself when I gave myself space to be to think to see where my lobes started reconnecting.

I can think for myself now. next day another one out A month until it started to scar.

I kept his sign.

It’s in the room in the upper corner of his house with the window facing the front.

You can see into that room from the street, especially when I used to leave the light on.

He hated that.

He apologizes now for saying what he said but I can tell that the part of him that drilled those nails in is still there and they still look at me like I'm losing pieces of my soul.

I see growth and healing and the fact that I’m here.

by lucy anderle ‘16

you will not have my name i will take yours take the parts that i want & leave you dedicate the rest of my life to not even destroying your name but destroying the ivory pillars on which you stand i will do that simply by knowing that you do not define me i am not grateful to you for shit and i have long won.

3. for you who has loud invisible thoughts of self-destruction: as you are. as you are. you will always be enough as you are. you are enough as you are. for you who loves fiercely because you want to live the kind of love you did not have. from pain there will always be the fight that wins you will win. you are not your traumatic past that is not your only story do not let anyone try to take it and tell it for you.

there will be a day you are finally breathing i swear there will be moments that come unexpectedly when you giggle again like you're five i swear there is a love you have not felt yet. i hope today you hold your breath a little less because if you think about it we did it. we have won. you have long won. as you are

They see the scar and think of what I did to myself. They think it’s so ugly.

But they don’t think about the sign.

love poems (i see you and i love you)

huiying chan '16

1. when you walk in this institution built on white supremacy, in these walls of hundred year old paintings of founders hall, pristine plundered lake waters and sculpted trees of a college that has not changed, there is something that weighs you down. you do not know what it is. this feeling will have you pinpointing yourself you as the problem but know that each step you take, every phrase you speak in courses with refined white girls (who benefit from white supremacy and are still mediocre) is you fighting back with energy that together changes these walls each day. i need you. do you know your effect? we need you. every single space we create that brings together the energy of students of color is a rippling revolution. we are not the only ones. we have never been the only ones.

2. pledge to academia

by jordan mayfield ‘18

each time i cry, i cry a little less later the tears i shed build my armor to come back and fight you even stronger academia will not win this psychological warfare

graduation requirements

bullet lists, revisited

I read so many things today: -two of the awls genius interviews show off!

-my own tweets ego...carry yourself away! (but, why punish myself?)

-a job application SEE ABOVE a chapter of hilton als’ white girls cease! see above -a text shoved under my nose that said “you are pretty as fuck and deserve the best head ever that’s all I wanted to say” well, true.

-the lyrics to fourth of july interesting to “be into” someone very unrelatable -3 emails pitiful -my own body well, jul 3 2015//mar 1 2106

by emily mullin ‘16

by bozena scheidel ‘18

a List of reminders to myself: -smelling today i put on rose oil cause i wanted to smell like roses like my grandma and when i asked my friend how i smelled she didn't say roses -being intimidated stupid and very very good -being in control of my time as often as possible a good try a Solid Effort -remembering why certain discomforts are so good and necessary see above july 12 2015 //feb 23 2016

ppl I’ve thought “oh my god I love her” about within last 18 hr: -my grandma who gracefully puts up with my grandpas bullshit lucky lucky LUCKY!!!!! i'm lucky -my friend who is tenaciously and vibrantly glowing i really don't know who this was written about i've been thinking and i can't pin it down -my coworker who reminds me how important limes, pepsi and a hard ass can be and TONIC WATER! and putting your feet up july 11 2015//feb 23 2016 anyway -I gotta take care of myself well duh! stuff we’re looking for: -I gotta live in a good place that doesn’t crowd me i wanna find one -braveheart is a serious movie??? That the academy thought was worth 5 oscars??? ok clearly reaching for some kind of relatability. this was a journal, who was my audience?

-beauty is definitely terror yes, blah, yes, it’s true, are we tired yet?!

-I gotta be brave and good and fair yeah, I’ve gotta aug 23 2015//mar 1 2016

Let Me Comma Breathe

by sahar ibrahim ‘16

When I was young I used to have a problem with commas My teachers told me to use the comma when I thought there should be a pause A pause between ideas A breath between thoughts So I did, I listened to the voice in my head But apparently the voice in my head was wrong Every time I stopped to think before putting pen to paper, committing thoughts to reality, I used that comma to communicate to you that I was thinking, that I was reflexive and aware of the consequences and power vested in the words that might come next,

Gringo

by laura lópez ‘16 you can't understand the weight of the yellows the faith in my blues i live my life in color. you laugh at the stiffness of the taffeta my fifteen year old cousin in her crinkling dress. quinceañera. you mock her royalty. disrespect our sacred bonds of refresco and gold tequila and bailes sorpresas. black and white is what you know white is what you prefer a lack of color. or one engulfing all?

But you, you didn’t hear me You saw only black letters peppering a blank page, But the page isn’t blank, it was never blank, And yet all I could inscribe upon it’s surface was a darkness so profound that it reached into the fathoms of a silence so deep and tore it apart from its very core, You saw only black letters peppering a blank page, And in between them, you saw my commas, But you did not hear them You told me that I used too many commas in my writing You told me that the commas made my sentences run on and on and on, But somehow they weren’t going fast enough, Because there are rules Rules that were preventing me from coming up to inhale for fresh air Rules that wanted me to keep my head down and keep moving forward Rules that erased the pictures that coloured the words in my mind Because apparently you’re not supposed to pause between certain thoughts Apparently, you’re not supposed to stop to think at all.

The first language I ever learned was kutchhi, an indian dialect, a spoken language not written in books, but etched in the hearts of those who carry it

now that I've traded you for the warmth of twilight canciones food too hot for you besos on tan cheeks and carne asada cooked brown and stiff. I'm convinced. you could never get me to eat medium rare. we were tibios lukewarm. incapable of creating fire.

I never glowed. but you lit up with the triumph of a colonial fantasy. a mexican girl sans melanin because you can't understand the depth behind the green green is not exportable greed and poverty even our currency has more colors green is pasture for my pa's cows Paloma, la guapa. the gorgeous one with the dark brown eyelashes. white is what you know in a world replete with color

forward, With no rule book to tell me what’s right and wrong, When I speak Kutchi, there is nothing holding me back, I can speak for as long as I like, pausing as I like, because this is my language, this is my voice.

You usurped our word Khushhi, an expression of joy and happiness and turned it into cushy, turning it from a word describing a temperament of ease into a lazy, goodfor-nothing privilege, so that every time I hear it, my ears bleed with the cries of my people whose Khushhi you have taken, forming a canopy over our spirits through which no rays of light may penetrate.

How do you know when I need to take a breath How do you know when I’m pausing to think, to reflect, to surmise You tell me that I cannot breathe, but my lungs are empty now , , ,

So just let me comma breathe,

lina ye ‘17

Untitled

by suma cheru ‘18 Beeep. Beeep. Beeeeeeep. Incessant honks resonate from the impatient auto rickshaw driver. He is angry with the aged woman who bears a twogallon jug of water on top of her head, vexed by her leisurely gait. He quickly passes her with a smirk. She is unaffected, smiles, and continues her steady stride along the rock-paved roads. Two young boys appear from a building entrance. They carry a carrom board (base for board game), ten times the size of both of them, with great tenacity. They lay the board out and begin their game, sweating initially, but chuckling and smiling widely at their feat. A lean man walks past them, yelling, “Bharata, muphta ki jamina!” (“India, the land of the free!”) He passionately waves a hand-sized flag, painted with vibrant colors of orange, green, and white, to the world.

Annoyance. Ease. Determination. Pride. The many ‘flavors’ of Indian cultureof my culture. Though they come from different families, cultures, and walks of life , I can’t help but draw a similarity among them: their shared feeling of being at home, in their country. My entire life, I’ve been asked, “Where are you from?” I respond, “Berkeley, California.” But then what follows is, “No, where are you REALLY from?” “Oh--India.” Even in America, the ‘nation of immigrants,’ my appearance often marks me as an outsider. Even though I’m an American by birth, I’ve never felt the natural ease of the aged woman or the pride of the man with the flag. I long for the ideal of ‘home’; perhaps that is India; perhaps that is on the periphery. Perhaps, and this is the most scary, it is nothing.

#conversation

piece elle friedberg ‘17 Medium: sculpture (cast plaster, cast plastic, paper, acrylic paint)

what you can’t see ahead.

by kumari devarajan ‘17

get here. tell your parents to leave. miss your parents. remember your parents suck. meet a girl. make a friend. lose a friend. forget a friend. don’t cut your hair. cut your hair. kiss a girl. kiss some boys. kiss the girl again. meet faces that are old and passing. make them your friends. watch your friends change. change. break your own heart. find your calling. realize callings are stupid. question your gender. find language to describe your experience. feel brown. feel dark as fuck. feel white. feel stupid. feel inadequate. feel fate. feel fleetingly smart. feel failure. listen to music. walk some times around the lake. walk across campus to increase your chances of maybe running into someone. try to impress somebody. hate snobs. find boring people and write them off. judge anyone and everyone around you. find your people. love your friends. love your people. kiss more girls. grow your hair. cut your hair. wear men’s clothes. be mistaken as a man. be talked about. be written about. hear rumors about you. make some money. lose money. spend money. study a little. try to find a professor that’s out there that you’re supposed to get super close to. throw up from drinking. smoke weed and have a panic attack. confess feelings. see your ex making out with someone. watch your girlfriend graduate. be glad your ex graduated. kiss a lot more girls. come. make a girl come. make yourself come. make yourself come a lot. fuck a girl. fuck a lot of girls. fuck some straight girls. get annoyed by biddies. Forget an old love. scream. cry. cut. mourn. wake up and tie your shoes. shit on white people. eat lunch. shit on white people. go to class. shit on white people. hang out in a room. shit on white people. find your gruesome, inevitable path. watch some acapella.

Talk to an athlete. Remember that time when you were an athlete. make a couple sammies. hold someone while they cry. find a girl crying alone. try to help. go for a run. do your laundry. eat a salad. eat pizza with ranch. never clean. split your ends. wear your holes. wear your ass.

Tweets

by anonymous

i am not by alice e. lee (이은샘) ‘17 dear whites, please do not tell me u like korean bbq. please do not tell me i remind u of __(insert asian name here)__. please do not try to compliment my eyes as if i need ur validation. please do not tell me u've never been with an asian girl before. please do not try to guess my ethnicity. please do not tell me u've visited japan. please do not try to inform me about my own fucking culture. please do not expect me to drool after u, u stupid white "knight". please do not act like i am ur fucking white supremacist ally. please do not try to sensor what i say and how i say it. please do not tell me i am too aggressive for u -- i'm supposed to be ur submissive, asian fantasy...right? please stop making me say 'please'.

Untitled

by meredith ausenbaugh ‘16 I may not have your bigger, rounded nose or beat the earth as heavily as you did with your duck footed gait.

But that day, the day that I played through my mind and imagined for 2,190 days…

The men in suits and ties...

They told me I have traces of you within me.

I sit here and I wonder where you are within me.

I worry where you are within me.

The men in suits and ties, The women and old friends in full faces of makeup marked by soft tears…

They told me to look for the good, to celebrate the happy, to share the memories.

I sit here and I wonder where those are within me.

I worry where those are within me.

I think I don’t have the answers.

I think I won’t have the answers for a long time.

So for now I’ll put on my headphones.

I’ll dance a little too hard to Blink 182.

I’ll take a little too much pride in the sounds of John Mellencamp.

Just like you did.

Table of contents i am not—alice e. lee ‘18 what you can’t see ahead—kumari devarajan ‘17 #conversationpiece—elle friedberg ‘17 gringo—laura lópez ‘16 graduation requirements—emily mullin ‘16 love poems (i see you and i love you) —huiying chan ‘16 adventures of ash, an aspiring astrophysicist—ashley iguina ‘17 serenity’s corner: a playlist—serenity hughes ‘18 do you know the circumstances of your birth?—j.r.k. ‘16 & alessandra saluti ‘16 bruises—anna cauthorn ‘19 notes on the academic “love”—ks ‘17 untitled—ally ang ‘17

the scars of birthmark the story of the zodiac—cynthia chen ‘18 scene 4—so-yung mott ‘16 if i have a daughter—franzi ross ‘17 departure—serenity hughes ‘18 glass—anju madhok ‘18 untitled—alexa kasner ‘19 disappointment—dom steele ‘17 bullet lists, revisited—bozena scheidel ‘18 let me comma breathe—sahar ibrahim ‘16 untitled—suma cheru ‘18 tweets—anonymous untitled—meredith ausenbaugh ‘16 gaea—audrey fok ‘18 this poem is about you (this poem is not about you) —j.r.k. ‘16

by kyiah ashton ‘19

gaea

by audrey fok ‘18 you are many things but you are not sorry. you are climbing into the mouth of someone else, hands and stomach brimming full with another heart when you ask me to come back but I am tired of it all: the radio static and the hurting, the left behind peach pits and the tiptoeing out back doors. even the earth has started zipping my aching beneath her flesh because she doesn’t think love can bring me home anymore, and maybe she knows better than me; maybe this is how she will keep me safe.

by meredith wade ‘17

“staff” jasmyne keimig…….founder & editorin-chief elizabeth cho……co-editor cassandra flores montaño…..co-editor

this poem is about you (this poem is not about you): a lightly edited & expounded upon twitter poem

by jasmyne keimig ‘16

you are the honey and i am the drowned bee

dear reader, hello (again). thank you for picking up and opening this zine. i will be very real with you in saying that the response from last semester's birthmark was overwhelming, in almost every aspect. i could never have guessed that this project would receive the response that it did. i am grateful for it. thank you truly.

sometimes it is nice to have someone under your skin, for the company, but it is not a place someone should live but you do

this is the second and final installment of the zine. birthmark: anthology 2016 is diverse in its scope, breadth, depth, and experience. this project will not continue in this form once i go— birthmark ends with me. but it doesn't really actually end with me because the stories, poems, comics, etc. contained herein are yours (ours) to celebrate and keep with us (forever). continue to do, make, write, paint, playlist (a new verb!), and create in the name of "just because." because you can.

i mark all the emails u send me as unread so your name is always in my inbox, my home i want you to break me like teeth on the skin of a plum body horror it is sometimes ok to be laid bare and love this body that is a bit more embodied (in flesh, in fat, in bone, in nerves, etc.)

thank you to everyone who submitted. thank you to everyone who will read. thank you to everyone who encouraged me to continue. thank you to everyone who saved me even if you didn't know. birthmark is my love letter, my hymn, to you all in my own way.

i think i am beginning To understand my own appeal put me back together again in my body in anyway u see fit (but gently please) (i will only be touched lovingly) know what type of desire my body inspires "i'm trying to imagine a way of being that is spread thin and pulled together at the same time" me too but i wanna spread my love so [thick], so [far] and always with the touch of the sublime

i carry all of you, all of you, with me. i hope you carry me too. yours always, jasmyne

i like the way you say my name, slightly wrong but very right say it again, but slower know every inch of me i want to give to you an unblemished heart

BIRTHMARK:

ANTHOLOGY 2016

gold in my head press april 2016

wellesley’s alternative maga(zine)