Tumbleweed Zine Issue Two: CONTRIBUTORS NEEDED

If you have any sort of special talent that can be showcased two-dimensionally on paper, we want you.


If you write, draw, paint, make collages, or take pictures, we want you.


The theme for this issue is SIGHT.



Email us: tumbleweedzine@gmail.com

He followed me into my sleep,

my dream that I was taking a shower.

I took my clothes off slowly, but hid from him behind a towel-
my body wasn't for his eyes anymore.

I stepped into the mold and tile prison
full of steam.

I stuck my face under the head, breathing in and choking on water.

He came up behind me, naked too.

He put his arms around me.
His warmth felt nice.

But I cried till my sinuses drained out of my mouth and nose
in huge globs of phlegm and grey slime.

I didn't cry because I wanted him back.
I cried because I had him to begin with.

I never should have had him.

I pushed his wet body off of mine.

Get out! Get out you useless thing! Don't you understand?

I went and flirted with redheads and stood in awe of a ten food girl with perfect eyebrows,
once I had toweled myself off.

I had forgotten that I have a face

ears

hair

skin

nails.



I thought I was a depository chasm

where others find their self-worth.



A nameless, faceless tunnel,

ridged on the inside,

that everyone has to pass through

to get to

the other side of living.



The hollowed out ideal

that everyone seems to want these days.


The cold-handed bitch.


I sat up this morning,

looked in the mirror,

felt the bump still on the back of my head,

saw what everyone else sees.



It’s hard to remember you’re you

without the aid of mirrors

or puddles of water

or spoons

or glassy eyes staring right into yours.



I still have a face, surprisingly.

According to my closet mirror, at least.