Photography by Neonbrand
I walked behind my heart, Covered up to the thighs in its rivers, freezing from the chill that it became since life served it grief beyond winters, only seeing the calm of blood that passed the rest of my body on the inside. we learned to flow together, to search for ourselves On the walls & floors of my flesh, with no control as I got closer to feel its beats, as blood became my Feet I swam without ever learning but knowing & feeling how weak I could be in its strength.
she was afraid of making the space hers, because it never felt like there was room for her to be who she wanted. maybe it was the stares & laughs who chased her mind over the years, the ones who taunted her identity, or the silent tears after giving her all to the space just to be rejected of her place. it all felt too familial & others never understood the difficulty in just standing & being in front of others, even in under a minute, a meeting of eyes
This mag explores situations within duplicitous demographics and highlights on a plethora of issues– some areas of double standards will be familiar to you, but many will force you to explore and interrogate your own perception and empathize with another perspective. In this issue, we include art, photography, articles, and poetry from various artists.
Photographers & Visual Artists of all mediums submit your original art to us to be considered for the cover of our No. 3 magazine.
Send high-quality images to INFO@GenreUrbanArts.com by December 1st.
Thank you so much for your support!
“Do you think they can see me?”
I ask myself.
Of course, they can.
They have two eyes and you’re right here.
Alive and breathing still.
Continue reading Disappearing.
The first two therapists I saw were both pastors. While living with my parents, it was hard to even convince my mom to let me see a therapist, so a person of the clergy with a psychology degree was a good compromise for them. Continue reading Sliding Scale
They march today
Carry signs above their heads
Ignore burning arms
Tap into fury and shout
black doesn’t crack
but black does crack
i saw blacks do crack
in the 80s
the sickness passed down
to their babies