Their nose is too large, too flat This one’s eyes look like their squinting, too slanted, too small Their skin is too yellow, too dark Hair is too straight, too black, too plain They don’t sound right either, too much of an accent Won’t even try to pronounce this one’s name Take notes This is what a real East Asian looks like A little button nose Wide ocean eyes Pale skin, like porcelain Golden flowing locks An accent similar to mine A proper English name It’s whitewashing It’s cultural appropriation It’s not important It doesn’t hurt anyone BY MIA FRIEDMAN
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1. In visions of desert haze and winds whipping cloudy dust. briefly, an image coheres a memory (paradoxically) distant and near inscribed on expanding silken sand a veil shimmering in waterfall motion I hold on to these fragments I keep them deep inside me I patiently wait to hear you again (over the lulling din of) to see you again (waves meeting) to breathe you again (in the salty air) 2. Amma, abba English constricts and Urdu fails me. How do I talk, about my body, my love, my gender? I am afraid of coming back home I am afraid you will not understand BY KEENU MAUSAMBIThese are postcards I have created to places and people that have created me, shaped me, nurtured me and exist as a fundamental part of my identity. These postcards are accompanied by short poems.
by mia friedmanArtist Statement: I wrote the poem in third person, focusing on how just her face leads to assumptions about her. Then, exploring deeper into how assumptions inhibit her in the world. I chose the title “Shades of Yellow” because Chinese people are supposed to have ‘yellow’ skin. However, blocking out actual skin colors of Chinese people, it is obvious there is not yellow in the vast skin tones. I created the artwork before the poem, during the beginning of October. I used digital media, as it is cleaner and creates a more finished outcome. I found it challenging at first to settle on an idea that fits well with the image, but the idea of breaking up the poem with shades, as the shades get darker the ideas get heavier, seemed right. I printed the poem on yellow paper so that it would be more obvious that it is connected to the picture. * Qipaos are a traditional Chinese dress
BY ABBY PASIONArtist Statement: Everyone has their boiling point. And with the complicitness within the community, in face of the country’s current socio-political tensions, even the most hopeful and brightest of people can feel consumed by frustration and anger.
I. A town taken up of all parts of me But somehow The idea of home was never still So escape on route Through the window glass shards Of this so-called happy place I’m jumping the train tracks of my veins In search of a world to be Where the door shuts all the way And my breaths are not leaking... Through cracks In their system I’m running towards you. II. Remember his hands around your neck I can still imagine them His anger Channeled throughout his skin To scold the power... ...of my body- To extinguish the flame that ignites me Almost possessed Could have been silenced But never once branded This was the day I waiting for So that I am Far Away From Him. Remember she promised you We’ve seen how fire manifests III. I choose the family without blood The family that gives water and tender-loving care That nurtures us to grow beyond our roots ‘Cause we were never meant to be grounded forever When we were born from the stars Dreaming our way back home Asking ourselves How do we handle it all With so little to spare? I’m running, and I'm running. IV. Every bus, train, plane, or ship We move from one location to another On the same passage of time Taking up what’s space that’s there Filling in the gaps of what’s here Whether it’s all about family, friends, love, or us Our paths more or less intertwine, And we are on this same journey To liberate ourselves beyond their drawn line Coming in and out of our bodies, our minds, our souls The chills in the streets are more comfortable than the ones indoors We take shelter at 8pm Then leave security at 8am The time we carry our belongings on our backs All of everything we have left From the pieces of our broken hearts That we mend together with our tears and embers They didn’t know we could be. V. What is home? When the Indigenous land I’ve settled on Is not one I can call my own? What is home? When the land my family fled from war I have no memories from? What is home? When this shared space is made an unlivable reality? What is home? When all I have is my body to claim? Do they know that I’m still running? VI. Black, Brown, and Yellow Queer and (dis)abled Femmes and in-betweens You’ve taught me how to love How to dance How to let it all go Swept up in the currents of your arms Be changed by you How to solo How to hold my own- Tsunamis Of ripple effects Of story circles Of transformative magic Through visionary fiction Home is wherever we feel light in the shadows. VII. Dear queer femmes of color You’ve taught me how to be free All the things I didn't learn from Mẹ va Ba, Mummy and Deaddy Denial only lasts so long And truth telling reveals You’ve taught me that I didn't draw men Out of my desire to receive their embrace Let it be known that I’m next in line To sign her or their hand with my lips and ask, Would you go on a ride with me? Pink in color, Blushing and wanting you Lavender essence, Whispering sweet dreams to your soul When I say I'm so proud of you I’m constantly moved by you VIII. Good morning, love You’ve taught me how to run This feeling you spark How to keep running I'm meant to stay on this line And I’m running towards you Not with my legs, Not with my able-bodiness But with my mind, My neurodivergency They call “crazy” Beautiful, I’ve made it Even flying, With these damaged wings Passed on by our ancestors Remaining unbreakable Through his pheonix- Recreated And embodied as my own Fantastical being XI. I could be poetic, But why should all knowledge be expressed in words? When we cannot recall every letter, Only how our emotions echo to each syllable Our worlds are colliding Beyond soft skin And warm recollections Could you feel it too? My family, my home If only temporary Learning and growing together Loving ourselves and one another Bridging differences and building each other Our ability to imagine can bring us anywhere We are powerful as we are vulnerable Sacred in our own making I'm running towards you ‘Cause it's existential to my knowing BY CHRISTINE HOANGArtist Statement: Christine Hoang is a social change agent, visionary artist, and undergraduate student in Psychology and Social Justice at Oregon State University. They actively engage in arts activism moved by decolonial love as a way of resistance, survivance, and reclamation to empower LGBTQ+ diasporic and Indigenous communities with the tools to radically image a world without systemic, colonial violence. "Running Towards You" is a poetry piece on their lived experiences navigating the land, preserved on the blood and bodies of our Black and Indigenous siblings, while recognizing that all of our liberation is tied and bound together.
A young Newar girl of Kathmandu marries a bel fruit, the wooden apple carved from the sacred bael tree, who symbolizes Vishnu, for protection against stigma and discrimination of widowhood. In a two day ceremony, flowers, rice, bananas, and prayers are given as an offering for a good husband, to give their daughter greater freedom under the security of a divine husband. In the second wedding at eleven or thirteen, she will marry the sun, sleeping twelve nights in a dark room, the third wedding to a man. Some Christian women marry God instead of a husband. The wooden apple does not rot like fresh fruit. Similarly, God’s love is perfect, love everlasting. Whereas people are fallible and will not always be there. I want to marry the sun, the warmth and energy that nourishes my skin and makes flowers grow, origin of life. Or I’ll be like a hummingbird and belong to the wind, to the sky, to the journey between continents, to each moment. I want my first marriage to be to my God, who knew me before I was born, who knows my heart and understands my grief. A well in the desert, the most powerful. The one who defeats death. As a woman living in this world, but not of this world, no one can own my soul. by malaya luaLHATIArtist Statement: I am Filipina and was born in the United States. Drawing, writing, and hiking in the wilderness are my favorite things to do. Many things inspire me: eating ripe, fresh fruit, watching my garden grow, my dreams, people I meet, interesting sounds, the feeling of sunshine on my skin during summer, and my fears and desires. Poetry is amazing because it gives us so much freedom to express ourselves.
When I walk around “your” block, “your” campus, or “your” city It gets heated. When I find the confidence to build myself up after you attack, It gets heated. When I fight back, It gets heated. When you think you are winning, And when you think everything is always about you, It gets heated. I am not what you think you can throw around and then trash. I am not an object of lust, sin, or slavery. I am not to be tangled with. And I am not shameful. What I am is heated, And I got heated. by caitlyn adamsArtist Statement: The world is not what it should be. There is a lot of hate, power given to the wrong people, and unnecessary death. We all should become heated.
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