An ode to zine making


An ode to zine making

Makeshift manifestos and meticulous missions

Hope for a promising praxis

No money? No problem

DIY-do it yourself


My zine, my thing


Unedited language squeeze out soliloquies

Uncensored, raw dialect

Crunch and slice

Of paper ripping,

letters sinking onto an

Island of paste


Dialect of trauma hide

under my fingernails

Ready to be cleansed

By the soap I hold

And this water given to me


Wispy cuts of processed tree

transfer one sheet to another

fingers hold a stick of glue

Compositions collide

images drip disorder

colloquial concepts confuse sleeping minds


Indigenous liberation all in caps

Feminism red as strawberries

Spill on the page like burnt ketchup

Create ocean waves in espresso pupils

Sing like ponderosa’s

On a windy decadent night


I create

Tape, scissors, hand

Highlighters hiccup pyranine

Stickers vibrate youth

Salt sprinkled on watercolor paper

Bleed aubergine badlands


My finger gently

smooths a page of rage

made with love

not childless

nor unborn


My narrative, my nutrient

the paper is my water

I set afloat my words

Among my kind

A homemade delight,

how divine

♥The Julie Ruin-Just my kind♥

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