SheThey
Issue 6 - November2020
Copyright @ 2020 Sydnney Margova Islam SheThey Magazine Cover art: “Azin Is Getting Married” by Shabnam Jannesari All rights reserved
SheThey
SheThey Art and Literary Magazine
Issue 6 - November2020
Letter from the Editor Welcome to all the new readers and artists! I would first like to thank you all for the growing support for SheThey Magazine.
With so many new wonderful supporters, I would like to clarify who this magazine is meant for. Although the magazine is titled ‘SheThey,’ the purpose of this publication is to platform the community of marginalized genders in general. That not only includes people whose pronouns are she/her and they/them, but also folks whose pronouns are he/him, xe/xem, ze/zir, and other pronouns or neopronouns. I originally chose the title SheThey to uplift the work of those who are often silenced in a patriarchal society, but realized that these pronouns ignored a huge population of these marginalized folks. While it highlighted women and some non-binary folks whose pronouns were either she/her and/or they/them pronouns, it excluded folks whose pronouns were also he/him. It excluded trans masculine folks, gender fluid or gender queer folks, agender folks, non-binary trans folks, folks who use neopronouns and many more. I feel that this limited scope of who is marginalized has not only hurt the magazine, but also the community the magazine serves. As a result, I would like to make it incredibly clear that this publication is for all marginalized genders. In a world run by cisgender men, it is incredibly important to create communities that prioritize those who are not. With that said, I hope that everyone reads SheThey! Everyone inside and outside the community will find creative inspiration, moving stories, and hopefully, new knowledge. Thank you again for your continued support for the magazine and those whose work is featured in it. Love,
Sydnney Margova Islam
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Contents Cover
Azin Is Getting Married, Shabnam Jannesari
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Father Won’t Save Me, Madelyn Larkin
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Brother, Toni Brennan
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Building Bridges, Sydnney Margova Islam
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Kill the Man, Rose Lederer
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Reigning Flowers, Madeline Elli
7
Frenemies, Brooke Benson
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Come Over, Cassandra Murphy
9-11
Francis, Chaja Jamie Marie
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Through the Magnifying Glass, Taylor Robers
13-14
Ice Cold, JĂŠrai Wilson
15-16
Mills St, Rachel French
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Untitled, Shabnam Jannesari
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Pink Lady, Audrey Rauth
19
Untitled, Emily Renee Koch
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Solipsisitic, Ty Martin
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The Crime of Being Black, Lidia Hadera
22
Berlin Beauty, Mary-Kate Stanich
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Issue 6 - November2020
Father Won’t Save Me By Madelyn Larkin
You told me that christianity Was so wholesome, and so pure Would save me from any danger Told me it was world’s greatest cure You told me that christianity Meant loving unconditionally You told me it meant forgiveness. But when I came out as queer You made me read bible verses With eyes full of tears Yelling at me as I laid on your bed When I came to you With a torn up arm and a head Full of guilt You yelled in my face, Praying. Casting the demons out of me. The demons that made me hate myself That made me hate myself so strongly So strongly that I wanted to hurt myself So strongly that I was willing to die To be born as someone else Who didn’t have these two broken fathers Who whipped my heart with belts. You never let me take blame For any of my own mistakes Said it was the devil’s doing So I never learned shame
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Until it built its way up my throat Resulting in endless cries of self-hate You ask me how I got this way It’s because of the perfect daughter you illustrate In your mind and in your spoken word A girl with no independence A girl who wants to be in a kitchen A girl who covers up every inch Of her Ugly, sinful body. You made religion an excuse To hurt others around you And still feel morally just You made religion a dagger That hangs over my head. Who the fuck can I trust? You made religion a reason To hate everything about me Everything about everyone Who isn’t just like you. I want to be saved, father. I really, truly do. But how can I trust a god If I can’t even trust you? The man who made me The man who raised me I see you in the light And all I see is a control freak You tell me I’m going to hell I Guess I’ll see you there I feel like I’m already in hell Each day is a living nightmare
SheThey
I know you see me as a demon Guess that makes us a perfect pair, You sly fucking devil. You showed me how to be hateful, But you told me how to care. I can never pray again. Each time I say the words “Our father, who art in heaven” I feel so absurd. I want to love people The way that you told me to But actions speak louder than words And I don’t think love has anything to do With who I’m praying to You say one thing and then do another Ask if I’m still christian No father. But I can’t tell you this, For our relationship would never recover. I wish you understood the toll this took on me I felt like you had blinded me And now I can finally see. But if I ever told you this, You’d completely disagree. Tell me I am full of sin, Guess that’s all I’ll ever be To you.
If god won’t forgive me, If you can’t forgive me, I will learn to forgive myself. Maybe that’ll free me From this never-ending hell. The hell that makes me hate myself, The hell that tells me I’m a sinner, The hell that is the guilt The guilt you spoon fed me For Breakfast Lunch And dinner. 2
Issue 6 - November2020
Brother
Cardstock, micron pens By Toni Brennan
SheThey
Building Bridges
Film Photography By Sydnney Margova Islam
Issue 6 - November2020
Kill The Man
By Rose Lederer I won’t kill my ego anytime soon. It’s deep rooted, it’s entombed. Built tall and buried in the ground, I know what I’m doing. I’ve dug a grave twelve feet under, Not just to hide but to store The bodies of my past selves And I’m about to toss one more. I’m gonna kill the man who saved me Before I asked to die. His sanity is just like mine So I can’t leave his side. You remind me of my past You remind me of my timeline; And the build up is unfolding faster Than my body can realize. I’m paranoid but maybe that’s why I like you in my life. It’s not depressing thinking deeper If you can keep yourself in line. It’s a double feature of Humanity Divine. First impressions recognize your fears, And that’s completely fine, Because my second stage dissolves me Until I’m water with a spine.
So I’m gonna kill the man who saved me Before I asked to die. His sanity is just like mine So I can’t leave his side. You remind me of my past You remind me of my timeline; And the build up is unfolding faster Than my body can realize. I’m paranoid but maybe that’s why I like you in my life. My body count is growing And I say that with pride. Identities I’ve killed are Now no longer mine. There’s a million different people That fit in one small space. Eyes become so empty When the inside stays the same. So I’m gonna kill the man who saved me Before I asked to die. His sanity is just like mine So I can’t leave his side. You remind me of my past You remind me of my timeline; And the build up is unfolding faster Than my body can realize. I’m paranoid but maybe that’s why I like you in my life.
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Reigning Flowers Photography By Madeline Elli
Issue 6 - November2020
Frenemies
Paper and ink collage By Brooke Benson
SheThey
Come Over
By Cassandra Murphy Come over for dinner tonight So I can justify the $120 dollars I spent on scented candles Stare at me from across the table We’ll make small talk and drink peach wine You’ll ask me about the food And I’ll skirt around asking “Have you fallen out of love with me yet?” My tongue will taste of iron And I will smile big and wide We’ll summon circles of mushrooms To grow through the floor and swallow us alive To pass the time I’ll lament about how my poems never rhyme Until the slugs devour my last dregs of self concept And my brain will feel submerged in water The candles will melt away The apartment building will burn down And the ashes will swirl above us As we sit across from each other in the comfortability Of two people Who used to share everything
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Issue 6 - November2020
Francis
By Chaja Jamie Marie “Look, I know you aren’t happy with your life right now, but you’re an addict Francis. I can't keep watching you waste away in front of me.” Francis slowly opened their eyes gazing at their disheveled boyfriend—or rather ex-boyfriend— pacing around his flat, shaking his hands as if he were ringing the guilt out of them. “Look, I don't want to do this, a-and you probably don’t know what I’m saying cause you’re clearly out of it, but you have to leave.” Francis watched as he walked toward the front door and opened it, a triplaction of him following his every move, each one cast in a purple and blue, each version staring Francis down as the tension visibly thickened. As Francis rose to their feet—which were pointing in two different directions—their ex-boyfriend, whose name they couldn’t remember for the life of them till it floated above his head in a red hot wispy cloud of smoke, continued to ramble on about Francis’ bad habits. They had surprised themselves, falling for someone named “Matthew.’’ “Acid. All you ever do is drop acid,” he shouted. “I had to basically feed you while you were in your own little world! A world that doesn’t make sense. All you ever do is take acid and trip out. How do you think that makes me feel, Francis? How do you think I feel? What about me Francis!” Francis wasn’t affected by the sudden screaming, they had gotten used to it ever since they started doing acid. “You’re not even listening! You know what, get out of my apartment.” Last time Francis checked, they paid rent there too. Apparently Francis hadn’t reacted fast enough cause now Matthew's hands were on their shoulders and the front door seemed to be floating closer and closer until it engulfed Francis and everything was peach color and bland. They felt sick, everything was so devoid of life and all Francis could hear were harsh screams and saw creatures trapped behind the walls, clawing their way out. Francis scurried to the exit in fear. Of course they had bad trips once in a while, but not like this. Never like this. Where’s the exit? Where’d it go? Why is there just a drawing of a door in green chalk? What’s happening? I’m so confused. Wait.
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SheThey “I? Who am I? I’m watching Francis, so who am I, what am I? Where’s Francis? Am I Francis? No, no, no, no! I’m me, who are you? Why is t-the voice so loud!” Francis shrieked and ran like never before. Running away from a strange voice inside their head and through a door that had just appeared there, maybe it was always there. Maybe it wasn’t. Francis ran and ran and ran, their arms flailing at their sides but when they looked down their legs weren’t moving, they were sweating and they were moving but their legs looked planted to the floor. They tried to do what felt like stopping but the walls and doors continued to fly past, some turning into weird shapes. Francis tried to make them out but their vision was blurry and… red? A red hue covered almost everything they laid their eyes upon, the doors stopped coming and letters floated around their head. “B… A… L… D?” Francis muttered, their hand reaching up to touch their head, all their hair was there, the brown 4c coils still in their place. Francis brought their hand back down feeling reassured till they saw it. A hefty amount of hair laid in the palm of their hand, is slid down, getting sucked into a growing black hole. Francis stood there in horror as they felt clump after clump of hair fall down their face and dance, as they disappeared into the abyss.
“Sink.’’ A voice that sounded akin to Mathews whispered to a now sobbing Francis. Screaming and crying and wanting this trip to end, they couldn’t care less where they ended up when it was all over they just wanted it to stop now. The quicksand beneath their feet sucked them in deeper, rubbing harshly at their skin and getting stuck under their nails. Its coarse texture rubbed their dark skin raw. They sunk down to their torso, desperately trying to grasp onto anything solid to pull them back up. It was no use, their fingertips had elongated, twisted and sprouted, turning into a small forest of flowers and mushrooms which were trailing up their arms. They closed their eyes. They were engulfed. The falling feeling wasn’t unknown to them, they’d gone through it with other trips, but this was different. The feeling of falling indefinitely for only a few seconds. Only a few seconds until they landed and were met face to face with themselves. Staring back at them was their reflection in what seemed to be Matthew's bathroom. It all looked exactly the same. 10
Issue 6 - November2020
Francis smiled shakily to themself in the mirror, taking in the look of their tiny afro perched back on their head. Thinking the worst of the trip was behind them, they attempted to splash their face with some cold water. “Don’t.” Francis whimpered, looking up at their reflection, which was staring at them with a kind of rage and disgust. It flicked its wrist towards the running tap. “Off,” it said. Francis complied slowly, turning the tap off and looking at their reflection, tears welling up in their eyes. The reflection held Francis's gaze, it gestured for them to come closer. Wait, wait, wait. I don’t know who I am, but please, please, please just let me go! Please, I’m begging you! Francis, listen! Shaking their head at the person in the mirror, Francis let their feet move on their own, dragging themself closer to the mirror. Abruptly Francis was grabbed by the neck and was smashed into the mirror. They fell back with a scream, their forehead leaking blood colored blue. The bathroom door rattled with such a ferocity, such anger, the glass shards from the mirror rose up, showing Francis their blooded form, only there was a different background. Behind Francis were people dancing and drinking, there were lights and it was getting loud, so loud. Their heart was beating so hard it hurt to move, all they could do was close their eyes and fall back. The falling feeling returned, it lasted for hours. Francis felt their body age years while they fell and again, they couldn’t care where they landed, as long as all this ended. They felt cushioned. They slowly peeled open their eyes to find themselves on the couch. In Matthew's arms, in their apartment. With him gently wiping off foam from their mouth, whispering softly, rocking them back and forth. And Francis knew them. They were never going to touch another acid tab again.
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SheThey
Through the Magnifying Glass (Iris, Hayward, WI) Oil painting on wood By Taylor Robers
Through the Magnifying Glass (Sunset, Rogers, MN) Oil painting on wood By Taylor Robers
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Issue 6 - November2020
Ice Cold
Photoshop & digital painting By JĂŠrai Wilson
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SheThey
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Issue 6 - November2020
Mills St
By Rachel French Save your “woe is me” Tale about the fictitious nature of male privilege. Look me in my tired eyes and tell me that There is no benefit to being a man. Laugh in the faces of the suffragettes, The 54 or 77 cents to your dollar, The 1 in 4 college women who will become victims of Sexual assault. Tell me then About how I was not innocent in my own experience. Walking alone late at night is a sin That must be punished. Do I deserve this– My assaulter’s face burned into my memory? His hands on my inner thighs, Breath on my neck every time I try to fall asleep? I have never met a woman who does not Carry her keys between her fingers. One who neglects to check the backseat Or waits longer than a beat to lock her car doors. It is ingrained in us as deeply As the way we draw breath. If there is an opportunity, A blind spot– You asked for it And are no longer the victim. I am followed through my place of work “When do you get off” in addition to an expletive. This man is over 40 I am a fresh 19. My male coworker laughs when I tell him I am afraid. The terror follows me home. At school I am told that my skirt is too short But there are just 3 sizes, and none fit me right. The boys laugh and touch me as I walk up the stairs to class– I am 12.
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SheThey
For every victim of assault I know, She knows 3 more. We are told how to protect ourselves but has Anyone thought to tell the boys To leave us alone? My waist is grabbed in a crowd as he Whispers in my ear “Excuse me� But there is nothing polite about what I feel on my hip. When I come forward about my own assault, I am asked why I never reported it. I watched Brock Turner serve mere months for rape And I did not even know my attacker. What would have come of this Besides my humiliation? I am sure the man does not even remember what I look like But I can see his face always. Mills St. is no longer safe for me to travel, Even in the light of day. I took every precaution as a woman. My location was known by 5 friends and 10 roommates. I was on the phone with my brother There were people to check that I had made it home safely. Someone was walking the same way home And I could feel them behind me. I was on edge, prepared. And still it did not matter. When you disregard male privilege You are laughing in the face of every woman who has suffered through a trauma similar to mine. And worse yet Those who endured more. Because I am told again And again That it could have been worse. I am lucky I should be thankful That I only have to heal through this 5 minutes And nothing more.
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Issue 6 - November2020
Untitled
Oil & ink on paper By Shabnam Jannesari
SheThey
Pink Lady
Photography By Audrey Rauth
Issue 6 - November2020
Untitled
Painting By Emily Renee Koch
SheThey
Solipsistic
By Ty Martin I don’t care if we fall out of love, The laws of time will never not not not exist so let's just exist in this moment Lets just breathe and laugh and love in this moment Take my hand and dance with me In the streets, in the forest, in the kitchen at three am Know love does not last forever, but our memories will so lets just make them Lets just exist. In time In space In each other's heart In the streets In the sheets And in the other’s memories Golden hour is only an hour and the moon only a night But kiss my lips and I’ll show you how to exist so hard that imprints of your breath will forever stain the frame of existence Eat cherries and burry cyanide pits Walk the streets with a kind of aura that will never make people forget that you are here. You are in this moment. And that you will never not be seen Be the foundation of art itself and take no shit as it comes. Be the anarchist you wish for your children And when I look at you, I may only see the bittersweet reflection of myself in your eyes And I may also never know if its the idea of solipsism or the pain of self doubt that causes my shadows to dance across your lovely, lovely skin and maybe that's why I am the way I am To create a world where if you can’t find your insides, just scream until you do.
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Issue 6 - November2020
The Crime of Being Black By Lidia Hadera
May 25, 2020, was the day that George Floyd was executed. Today is June 29, 2020, A month and four days since Floyd lost his life. Since then protests have been ongoing not just within the US, but globally too. Yet all I can feel is rage. Perhaps because what these protests illustrate is that minorities all around the world, especially black individuals, endure what I have to edure everyday. One protester in London said: “We will keep fighting the same fight as you are.” This sickens me. Because systematic racism is everywhere. No matter where I go my blackness is a crime (except for countries in Africa). And although the epicenter is Minneapolis, it is prevalent everywhere. I don’t think I will ever “Get over it”
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Berlin Beauty Photography By Mary-Kate Stanich
Issue 6 - November2020
The mission of SheThey Magazine is to open more dialogues about the experiences of folks of marginalized genders through impactful art and literature. With an intersectional feminist lens, I want to give this community a resource where they have a voice to share what it is like to live in their skin and showcase their creative work. My goal is to cover any and all subjects relevant to these folks, including but not limited to; sex, race, LGBTQ+ rights, body positivity, reproductive justice, ability, racism, colorism, sexual assault, Indigeneity, trans* rights, white supremacy, age, gender uidity, domestic violence, patriarchy, sexuality, menstruation, relationships, toxic masculinity, sex positivity, uplifting favorite artists, writers, musicians, activists, etc. I hope to share perspectives from folks of all marginalized genders, races, abilities, ages, religions, nationalities, and sexualities. Any and all forms of art and literature are accepted.
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Thank you to everyone who supported this dream of mine and helped create a community around speaking our truths.
If you are interested in submitting work for the next issue, please contact me by email at syd.mislam13@gmail.com
Until next time.
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SheThey Magazine November 2020
