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“i planted the seed in my breast
and in its yearning to sprout
an unbearable pain took root
in my pain, i rejected everything, your love, and compassion even,

i devoured it all, not knowing, not wanting to see the bud
growing in my heart and when it had grown enough, blinded
by its red, that i thought boredom,
depression, anger, i cut it out meself,
and instead of trampling the rose like i expected, ya plucked it out
of the mud it had fallen into, and ya replaced it in my lap,

when i was in this wheelchair for the nth time of the year

“don’t look at me in the eyes,”
ya always told me, “it burns,”
ya once continued...

this time though, i did and i
saw the pain being reflected
back at me, as in a mirror,
none the wiser, i thought it only mine

it was only when i noticed the rose, just about to crumble,
on yer back, that i started to understand that ya were pained too”

“we both came a long way since then, didn’t we?
one of respect and understanding...”

“—curiosity too!”

“hey, do ya remember?

the first time we met, we were both having check-ups done,
me for my monthly routine of my fucked up body
ya for yer HRT blood tests and fucked tonus,
each thought the other the belle, not believing
the luck we had to cross paths as we did, well after”

“born or turned a monster,
it doesn’t matter
we’ll still have each other’s back
and love for one another
after all,

I’m Charybde and ya’re Scylla,”
“beast and belle all at once, we both are”
“beauty is the beast, right?”

Milouchkna weaves words, sometimes. She adores sweet stuff, pu-erh, and sequential art. She aspires to restore all things paper, and wants to start drawing. This peculiar disabled trans aro lesbiche bookworm disaster lives with her pets somewhere in France, near a valley of castles, and can be found on twitter @milouchkna and on tumblr at
Current Issue
23 May 2022

My family and I / lived and dined / and enjoyed sunny picnics / and celebrated Christmas / with the bones inside us / silently howling
Would the rightful owners of these 17 bodies please turn up to claim them?
"When I can't move, I write, and those two things are deeply connected."
Upstairs, the prime minister is meeting with all the party members because they are worried about how to save themselves. As in, just themselves and no one else.  Because they are selfish fucks.
Let’s strive to make the best art we can, but never from the starting point of fear, but of personal honesty.
Wednesday: The Body Scout by Lincoln Michel 
Friday: To Climates Unknown: An Alternate History of a World Without America by Arturo Serrano 
Issue 16 May 2022
Issue 9 May 2022
Podcast: 9 May Poetry 
Issue 2 May 2022
By: Eric Wang
By: Sara S. Messenger
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Podcast read by: Sara S. Messenger
Issue 18 Apr 2022
By: Blaize Kelly Strothers
By: Ken Haponek
Podcast read by: Blaize Kelly Strothers
Podcast read by: Ken Haponek
Podcast read by: Ciro Faienza
Issue 11 Apr 2022
Issue 4 Apr 2022
Issue 28 Mar 2022
Issue 21 Mar 2022
By: Devin Miller
Art by: Alex Pernau
Podcast read by: Courtney Floyd
Issue 14 Mar 2022
Strange Horizons
Issue 7 Mar 2022
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