and other voices


articles, poetry, music, REVIEWS etc.


The other day, a thought occured to two classmates in a college Rhetoric course. When a person, any person, thinks of the word "minority," a number of images may come to mind: A Black man, Asian man, Hispanic man, or in some cases, a colored woman. But no matter who comes to mind, no matter how different they may be in physicality, background, nationality, or ideology, American society has a tendency of grouping all of these humans together. In the process, their voices are stifled and their struggles become blurred into one big stereotypical Hollywood production that will probably win an Oscar despite its inaccuracy. American society and mainstream media tends to place minority groups under one large umbrella term, huddled together; a clutter of humans vying for recognition. This is not okay. Many of us who reside in South Texas and the RGV would fall under the cluttered side. That pisses us off too, because many arguments can be made about what that means for our community. 


We started Pink Zine to explore the voices that come from that clutter, and to make damn sure that they don't fall on deaf ears. Whether it be music, film, poetry, or literature, we'll find the seldom seen viewpoints and shine a light on them because we see and believe in the need for their ideas to spread.


The current gender-equality movement’s removal of the term feminist movement from their vocabulary sparked our interest in fringe media. Although our primary focus is on feminist ideas and topics, we don’t shut ourselves in a 2-author bubble. We created a space for other women’s ideas as well because society needs to hear different women’s perspectives.


In Issue 1, we explore why people consider certain things feminine, and how those things have changed over time. We also examine the reclamation of words and concepts that were once used to objectify women and feminist culture. We also give you cool shit to read and listen to, so it's educational but not boring as hell.


We'll leave you with the sentence that would become the basis of this publication, the statement that started it all:


The feminist perspective, and by the extension the perspective of all minority classes, must be equally represented throughout different forms of media in order to show a more complete and honest view of the world.


//Bryan & Cari

What the fuck is Pink Zine?


Oh, Barbie. Your life sure is glamorous, you get to be and do whatever you want. You never age, you have an impossibly proportioned body, and you have an accessory for every occasion imaginable! But the best part is, your entire life comes in various shades of pink! I mean just shit-tons of pink! And why shouldn't it? You're Barbie! The epitome of fashion, and pink is THE most feminine color in the whole spectrum... Isn't it? 
Hmmm...Come to think of it, when DID pink become synonymous with femininity? The answer is: a lot more recent than you think. 
Not that long ago, well, in the 18th century... it was perfectly acceptable for a man to wear a full on pink suit. In fact, Jay Gatz would where one in F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel, The Great Gatsby. For a long time, pink was viewed as an offshoot of the color red (which it totally is). And the color red continues to be associated with things like anger, blood, and war, making obvious connections to the military and soldiers. Pink was considered bright, and bold, much like the machismo-laced personality of men. Even soft pinks were game, as they promoted the ideas of health and virility. Blue on the other hand, was perceived as a much softer, delicate color, making it a good match for young girls and women. So where did the whole concept flip? Well there are a couple of different theories, but the most likely one follows thusly: 
Back in the 1940s when the American economy was still reeling from a world war and a great depression, clothing manufacturers decided to double up on profits by marketing baby clothes according to gender. If they could successfully tie genders to one respective color, it would reduce the likelihood of "hand-me-down" baby clothes. Parents couldn't very well dress up their new baby girl in her older brother's "boy" clothes! The manufacturers landed on blue for boys and pink for girls, and needless to say, the trend thrived. It must have been exciting for new parents, once they discovered the sex of their newborn, they could go out and purchase clothing and playthings of the correct color ("correct" is used loosely here). Yeah, it's just that simple...
So, why is any of this important? Well, this trend of finding the appropriate colors for babies, led to the assignment and enforcement of gender roles at a very young age. Teaching kids what is and is not acceptable behavior, right down to the very colors they wear. The truth is that the colors are innocuous, we put the meaning behind them. We choose to accept many cultural expectations at a young age, and internalize them as we get older. But these things are fluid, and they can change over time, case in point, the color pink. Even now, there's a cultural movement to reclaim the color pink. If you're a guy and you love pink things, you can hop online and order yourself a "Real Men Wear Pink" t-shirt, from one of dozens of retailers. Who knows, in time, the color pink might switch genders again. But really, it should just be neutral.
So, next time you think about the color pink, remember its history... And remind yourself that its just a color. Love it or hate it, it doesn't define gender. 


You do what feels right. When a person can be unapologetically themselves. As long as a person isn't hurting another they should feel free to do ANYTHING, wear the strange makeup or weird haircut, who gives a fuck! When a person can love themselves so much they will comfortably defend their wants and needs before strangers.- Josci

I get in touch with my inner goddess when I feel happy inside and out, comfortable with my clothes, hair, and makeup by my own standards to express my own beauty. This comes with also being comfortable of who I am as a woman, spiritually and mentally, to be comfortable with myself and my own goddess. - April, 21

 I stay true to myself all the time now. I learned to make my own decisions and do what makes me happy despite what people expect me to do or to be. I like to grow my creativity and connect with nature and animals too. -Paola, 21.

Pink Zine: How do you get in touch with your inner goddess?

Lo que hago para estar en contacto con mi diosa interior, porque ya la encontre, es amarme y exigir respeto a mi persona y liberarme de todo lo que me haga mal. De todo lo que me robe la paz y tranquilidad. Dicen que quererse a una misma es egoismo y antes solo pensaba en el bien estar de los demas.Ahora no lo llamo egoismo, lo llamo amor propio.

-Luz, 45

I look at myself and see how beautiful I am, then I tell myself that I can do anything I set my mind to and am worth so much. -Aly

Do what makes you


captioned internet clip art

Sexism and terrible

shit in general

Sick of boys

who are feminists but too macho to say it


poetry: local luv

PUTA BITCH by Josceline Carrejo

Like a dragon backhand slap to my equilibrium 

His harsh drip drop venom is thrown down my speech,
and I can’t find my reason for diction.


My makeup mask of mayhem is left on his hand.
I want it returned since I kept the receipt.
His unfamiliar face is a DMV poster and I want to sell my seat.


“Puta bitch!”


He takes my rejection straight to his chipped ego,
so I choke to giggle.
His face looks like my cousin’s, and I don’t want to fuck him.


But my reasons are like his missed court days.
I should be grateful for such attention from a swagged out swine.
I just so happen to be a puta bitch on the side.


Minutes have evaporated in the air,
but he huffs and puffs into his precious cheap beer.
My mind is boggled into the vodka bottle with his idiocy.


Misogynist bastard.

His cackles echo into my impure baby-free cunt
It hollers right back with harsh truths to lay.


I am woman
I am thoughtful
and I am more.

More than 

a one-night masturbation station,
a filthy porno daydream,
an accessory on your lap,
and a band-aid for your blaring society blues.

I create life

I create hope
I create equality
and I create exquisite worldly light.

All between my thighs.


You and your hushed intensions
and your enraged entitled erections--
are hopeful for a game of tug and war.


Open your eyes to a somber spread canvas,
I am the painfully polite potential paint—pure and true,

You’re the paintbrush with nothing but a stroke or two,
but baby we sure as fuck can make life without you.

At last my mind has wandered back,
and remind myself through the lovely looking glass.


Pay no mind to his double-sword dick,
Because I was born with the almighty life-bearing gift.


And if you haven’t already guessed
I can also be a puta bitch.


Featured poet: Josceline Carrejo

Josceline is a poet and UTPA student. She lives in Elsa, Tx and is inspired by fucked up relationships and Valley culture. Her poem, "PUTA BITCH", is taken from her DIY chapbook of poetry titled Brown Girlfriend


INSECURE IN 2015 by Cari V


I’m insecure because my life is a commodity




beats with



I couldn’t see my shadow on dirt sidewalks

or roam rancher’s cicada roads

by crystal ball moonlight.

Since my parent’s feared I’d be swept off

by a masked cowboy who would

de-value my vaginal price tag.


For this same fear, skirts and dresses

never rode above my velvet knees.

So I would not provoke a man’s gawk

into a heavy-handed grope on the street.

Despite this, boys my age touched me

“on accident” in crowded 6th grade halls.


Teachers glared at me because of this,

turned their heads and let me pay

the admission price to let my limbs breathe

with a stroke of warm flesh

and a bubble of shame bursting

in my pre-teen chest’s floral cavities.


My adult legs became a Buddhist monk’s head.

Because female body hair parallels

un-flushed shit in a public toilet.

Armpit fuzz like mine starts hurricanes

if I lift my arms at the right moment.

After all, I’m Mother Nature’s daughter.                   

But silicone and butcher’s tables make women famous.

Girls that should be leaping barefoot on caterpillar grass

with sweaty hair and ice cream sugar under fingernail dirt,

are couch-locked. Visual surgeons analyzing perfect breasts

while their mothers pop thin lips into shot glasses for hashtags,

wishing for butts like tempur pedic pillows and pretty.


Pretty’s found in gaudy gyms and plastic treats

for married men who will pay the light bill,

or in isle 4 at H-E-B where pretty prints

on paper napkins salute tired shoppers.

Pretty is motel art shrugging at your naked body.

Pretty is as empty and dissatisfying as boring.


And pregnancy’s watered down to a couple’s chicken dinner.

His gun stored under the King bed in the master suite of a suburban dream.

A woman with a baby without picket fences or the Brawny man’s broad chest

won’t need a cartoon lumberjack to chop down 50s housewife rhetoric.

Single mothers are warriors of birth and work and late-night runs to supermarkets.

They wrestle coat closet ogres and launder Washington scum, lavender fresh.


Because politicians need to be washed and dried until clean again.

These men slash and vacuum all women before conception.

There’s no “ovaries are private property” bible verse to protect us.

White men in office make rules for women’s bodies, preaching

that “we all make choices,” but not knowing what a choice is.

A choice is oatmeal and black coffee for breakfast in the Capitol.


A choice is not my name leading to racist comments my whole childhood.

A choice is not verbal assault when your breasts grow into button shadows.

A choice is not the monthly sacrifice of the blushing pink deity between my thighs.

A choice is not immigrant parents who won’t understand my poetry’s language.

A choice is not the label slut for liking sex and not giving a shit who knows.

A choice is not white men in government offices questioning my marriage.


I wasn’t born in the U.S.A. so I’m probably here to exploit the benefits.

My tongue-twister patterns may be terroristic threats in Spanish.

The nopal on my forehead may be harboring illegals—

Or better yet, smuggling duct-taped bags of mota under hubcaps.

I’ve grown and breathed and lived in Texas long enough to know

the shit ignorant government employees will say to step on my culture.


Minorities are mocked by the jester’s premise of liberty and justice for all.

Uncle Sam throws pies at our blurred faces on the 4th of July.

He pisses on us with chemical fireworks spraying pesticides on immigrant fields.

Feeds us engineered hotdogs at parks so our calories kill us before income tax.

Our government tries to tell us that white men are not privileged

because the glass ceiling’s shattered to pieces. 


That police brutality is a trust issue and rape is a lie for women to play victimized.

Dollar-deals on beef don’t come with a side of cancer.

Education isn’t second to world domination.

Gun-slinging civilians on school campuses keep students safe.

Racism was buried with MLK ,

and Mexican women’s issues were Frida Kahlo’s painted imagination.


I can’t buy any of this when only white men’s ‘choices’ lead to political careers,

while our brothers and sisters are aborted into cement prison cells for our DNA.

White formulas don’t flow in our veins so our brains haven’t evolved the right way.

I learned Nazis in 5th grade.

Bell Hooks and the Chicanas had to wait until my college days.

Now I’m scared that it’s too late.


Texas plays Tara in Gone with the Wind, guarded and gated to keep out aliens.

Trend-starter Arizona has a governor whose humanity melted in desert climate.

Indiana is like our currency, blaming God for men’s actions.

Florida stands its ground but only so black youth can crowd caskets.

The melting pot is burning like Baltimore’s suffocating under racist blankets.

I’m insecure because how can I not be?


America’s been sloppy for so long that the seams are still showing.

The pot is overflowing and now technology’s got our minds evolving,

revolving around revolvers because our peaceful protests accomplished nothing.

Should we pull on neon balaclavas and set fire to the flag in Austin?

Or swallow the charcoal air of discrimination and boots stomping

over dry Middle-East mountains and African plains?


Our hearts are bottled with gasoline rags and muffled with radio waves that

escape through holes in our pockets, bullet holes in our friend’s heads,

and cancer shredding cells in our mother’s breasts.

I’m insecure because my life is a fucking commodity





Featured poet: Cari V

Cari is not a poet, but she'd like to be. Maybe. This is a performance poem she wrote for her DIY chapbook Mi Vida en Verde.








        Jessica Helen Lopez is a prize-winning poet and Ted Talk alumni. Her poetry deals with the struggles of womanhood, gender roles, sexuality and feminism with raw honesty and poignant humor. It’s clear that Lopez is a seasoned poet, yet she stays witty, relatable, and boldly feminist. CUNT. BOMB. is the type of book that makes suckers blush when you read it in public. The titular poem will have you whispering cunt in empty libraries and spelling cunt on dusty car windows. The female narrator cheekily asks women to "pet [their] cunt as if it was the pet rabbit your mother never let you have," purifying female masturbation as a comment on the patriarchal society's penchant for making female masturbation a dirty/taboo topic. In her poem Wednesday's Wife, Lopez analyzez gender roles through the narrative of a woman in an abusive relationship with an overbearing man. Lopez’s words will grip your heart and gracefully force you into feeling something. Also, this book is a quick read and like $9 + Shipping on Amazon. I know this may be asking for a lot, but sacrifice a fast food purchase and buy it! You’ll be happy you did.


Recommended Reading by bryan s

The Feminist's Guide to Good Reads
All of the books below have strong feminist overtones, and many of the authors (Hosseini, Adiche, Angelou, Cliff) also explore the themes of race and oppression. Heads up! The Wolves in the Walls by Neil Gaiman is technically classified as children's fiction, but it's still worth the read! If you stick to this list your horizons will be broadened and your boredom will be banished. 
1.) A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf 
2.) Americanah by Chimanda Ngoze Adiche
3.) Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson
4.) A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
5.) The Wolves in the Walls by Neil Gaiman
6.) No Telephone to Heaven by Michelle Cliff
7.) I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou
8.) The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin 
9.) Between Shades of Grey by Ruta Sepetys
10.) The Tiger's Wife by Tea Obreht




     The songs on this playlist were were not written at the expense of objectifying and degrading women like a lot of popular radio noise. This playlist’s purpose is to inspire, empower, and spread feminist messages through songs written and performed by women.


Click here to listen.