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paid zine submissions: femmes, family, fertility

to all the femmes grieving family; grieving fertility: i see you.the pain in your hearts ache with the rhythm of the pain in mine. what i crave knowing is:how do you survive?how do you grieve? how do you heal? how do you protect your hearts? how do you connect and thrive? what magic did you weave to craft family in renewed and revolutionary ways? -------------- this zine will be released on mother's day May 14th, 2017 and submissions are due April 30th. no late submissions will be reviewed. you can submit your genius here:https://goo.gl/forms/OfNfw6u8pOvSkB8w2a maximum of 20 submissions will be chosen for the zine. the creators of the chosen submissions will share 40% of the profits from the project. another...

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hawthorn heart: magical boundary skills for femmes

make no mistake wild ones: learning how to say no as a femme is a radical act. this workshop is for witches and femmes - magical creatures that we are. together we will share and learn practical skills as well as magical and herbal tools to bolster our boundary setting tool boxes. we'll also do some shadow work to uncover our unconscious blocks to setting life affirming transformational boundaries you can sign up for this workshop here. boundaries are the bedrock of healthy, sustainable and nourishing relationships. often we conceive of boundaries as a tool to push people away, which they sometimes can be, but boundaries can also be a tool for deep intimacy. boundaries work to keep us safe...

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swallow

the children sit by the shore line swallowing shards of broken glass. broken bottles tossed from boats by old men remembering each other. they wish for touch and life jackets. they wish for adult arms to catch them as they tumble off broken swing sets.   most of the glass is broken bottles tossed through storms, whirlpools and drownings but some are left with messages in tact: "the way i love you terrifies me" "you are my compass" "i need you like breathing" "i think they saw us" "one day we'll be together"   the letters are spotted by ocean blood and tears aged and faded by sunbeams begging for the waking breath of sunrise the tender steady holding of...

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holy water

last night i dreamt of daniel high school boyfriend number 3 buzz cut he always smelled like roaches and old spice crinkled small bills pressed flat the clickshutripopen of ziploc freezer bags he sat on the bed asked me to oblige him i said, “i’d rather not” he whined “i thought you loved me” i wonder: what did he expect? this skin will never welcome him like safety these bones still remember the shame of not being|believed   and for the first time he dropped old boys club allegiances felt the scrape of broken trust across his skin from this i have become convinced that squirting is kin to the gushing tears of sacral trauma|centuries old that hands inside cunts can...

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firewood season

love affair with a mouse fed cat turning round on shoulder pin point warm whisky whiskers brush cheeks   roads cobblestoned of shit and straw dirt birthed beneath rain boot steps chainsaws cutting through overcast   sap sizzles smokey in the stove living room hearth no south facing candles needed   recently seasoned cast iron pan soup pot cauldron kitchen witches summer savoury   canning lid opened for the first time peaches and cream winter solstice elder berry hot toddies   morning light through shower window tears drops gather on plastic flush steam pillows   snow: top of inhale ice: bottom of exhale frozen bouquets of medicine   wood splits straight down queerwood|knots tetris   tattoos of dirt creosote bacon...

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