Jada Pinkett Smith has a message Hillary Clinton cannot ignore 

“When Hillary made her announcement,” Jada Pinkett Smith wrote last month in a viral Facebook post titled “Race vs Gender,” “I was more confused and anxious than excited. Her announcement conjured many old hurts and scars.” Pinkett Smith’s Facebook missive articulates the questions many women of color have about Hillary Clinton, running to the core of racial tensions in America, as well as within the feminist community. And if Clinton wants to win, they’re tensions she’ll have to address.

Get Involved!

For the next issue of Parallel, the theme of which is “Celebration”, we are looking for the following:

  • female-fronted or feminist bands
  • women who inspire YOU and why
  • letters from our readers to be published in the magazine
  • models - young, old, WoC, fat, thin, anyone! (UK based).
  • social justice clothing brands, i.e. clothing brands that use their proceeds to raise money for campaigns, charities, or simply to raise awareness
  • older trans women to photograph and talk to
  • independent clothing designers
  • artists and collectives
  • your photos of YOU looking BEACH READY
  • your photos of your favourite outfit this season
  • sex workers to talk to about their work and opinions
  • submissions on the theme of “Celebration”

We are also putting together a feminist festival and are looking for the following people to get involved (UK based only!):

  • speakers and debaters - either recommend yourself or your favourite speaker
  • performance artists
  • spoken word artists
  • female-fronted or feminist musicians 
  • people looking to run workshops

Please email admin@theparallelmag.com if you are interested in any of the above. Either put “Celebration” or “Festival” as your subject title depending on whether you want to be involved with the magazine or the festival.

Peace and love! 

my last words (before I kissed you)

I’m scared to write about you.
Or for you.
I know how it feels to be a freshman
in love.
Don’t.

You say that you can’t read me,
so I pray you never find
my poetry:

I’m a quick kiss by the punchbowl,
stumbling.
I’m the broken lock
on my bedroom door.
Don’t knock.
Come in,
knowing that others will follow.

You say that you can’t read me;
that’s because I haven’t written anything
on my face,
or on my arms,
or in my voice—
a blank canvas, I’m just here.

Not good.  Not bad.
Just here.

I want to write for you,
but I have nothing to say;
I know how you feel
as a freshman in love,
and all I can tell you
is
Don’t.