Poetry and photography zine Tessellation explores piecing yourself back together—while raising funds for Barrier Babes.

By Kelcie McKenney
Photos by Travis Young

I reached a creative roadblock in the midst of the 2020 pandemic. I wasn’t making things for myself, and my mental health was suffering because of it. So I challenged myself to make. And this book was created.

Over the fall of 2020, I pieced together poetry and film photography to create Tessellation, a zine about falling apart and putting yourself back together again. 

Over a year and a half later, Tessellation is ready for the world. And because this zine helped me through a dark time, I want it to help others. So I’ve partnered with Barrier Babes—a Kansas City nonprofit that strives to promote inclusive and unapologetic sexual health education. Barrier Babes distributes condoms as a way to help lower rising STI rates in Kansas City. 

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The Wolf

By Reese Bentzinger
Photo by Justina Kellner

Content Warning: Sexual assault.

You’re so pretty baby 
He shoots me a grin, pearly whites 
turned neon by strobe lights. I turn to the bartender 
thank her as she slides me a fireball shot. Close my fist 
make crisp dollar bills crumple like leaves. He slides over his card before I 

Whatever you want baby 
I offer a polite smile, and he gives me an unwanted hand 
that draws me over to a leather couch, his hunting ground. Precious stones claw into my skin
drawing blood as they leave his mark on my palm. He eyes my dress, 
red silk, and wants to know what I would 

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SOUP: Queer Pain, Queer Resilience

By Jen Harris

Forever a trigger warning re: sexual and physical assault

I need to write about how hard it has been for me to be Queer.

The trauma of my Midwest queer experience rattles in me, generational and cellular. I am devastated by the danger I placed myself in in order to feel safe. How many nights did I drive shitty cars and shitty people around, trying to find an exit or a safe parking lot or enough change for a motel room? How many cigarettes have I smoked and how many lies have I told? How much survival sex did I have with women who wouldn’t acknowledge me during the day, but filled me full of food and drugs at night? How many scraps did I accept in place of true meaning and connection? At what point did I lose touch with my worth? Did I ever know it to begin with? Is it something you nurture or is it inherent? Is it something you believe in? Is it annual or perennial? How much sunlight and water does it need? How long can it live in the tundra before damaged, irreparable?

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Poet Jen Harris’s new book Unconfirmed Certainties is about heartbreak, growth, and telling your truth⁠—even if that means saying “fuck you” to cheating fiancées.

Bad Ass Babes: Jen Harris

By Kelcie McKenney

Jen Harris outside her Kansas City home
Photo by Justina Kellner

Poet Jen Harris is unapologetic about telling her truth, and she wants readers of her new book Unconfirmed Certainties to feel the same. 

The Kansas City poet and spoken word artist has earned her place at the center of KC’s poetry scene: She has both a Drugstore and Charlotte Street residency under her belt, gave a TED talk called “Spoken Word Poetry Saved My Life,” had a guest spot on season three of Queer Eye, founded the Kansas City Poetry Slam (aptly named because she “believes in SEO ratings”), and published two books, with her third to be released on Sunday. Harris isn’t stopping any time soon.

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