Creative | Posted by Poulami S on 11/27/2015


Little bits and pieces; memoirs of the future,

Box of broken laces; stitched up with a suture.

My soul’s meant to be sold,

As the story unfolds-

A sinner has no shame,

I’m the girl without a name.

No bones in my spine,

No morals entwined,

Your truth’s the biggest lie,

Broken wings never fly.

My soul’s meant to be sold,

As the story unfolds-

A sinner has no shame,

I’m the girl without a name.

I’m the girl who fits no locus,

Like a picture out of focus.

When “I” is purged with deceit,

Silence speaks with no conceit.

Yet, my soul’s meant to be sold

Let the story unfold;

I’m the sinner with no shame

I’m the girl without a name.

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Creative | Posted by Sabrina N on 09/25/2015

An Interview with Photographer Ashley Armitage

21-year-old Seattle-based photographer and filmmaker Ashley Armitage’s work is largely a tribute to female friendships and femininity. Her dreamy, nuanced photography lets viewers into the intimate, magical moments of girlhood. They depict beauty routines and sleepovers. They unabashedly celebrate and normalize body hair, tampons and bras. The collection is a celebration of girlhood by one of its own products. Its creation is an especially empowering and important act in a society that attempts to ascribe exactly what young girls should and shouldn’t be.

Armitage’s work is brave, beautiful, unapologetic and startlingly honest — much like Armitage herself. I sat down with her to discuss her vision, her future, and what it’s like to grow up.

So obviously, you love photography. When did you start getting into it, and why

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Creative | Posted by Caroline B on 08/20/2015


I begin peeling off a layer of the mask that once covered my wounds. Starting with the

rehearsal smile hung high on my face

Revealing anger, torment, loneliness, vulnerability

I had to ignore the brewing storm of

frustration in my head

Just as they said to


On moving on


On healing yourself

What about working on justice?

What about having control over my own body?

That didn’t matter. Not to them. Because

somehow they had come to the conclusion that rules could be broken

By the man who held me down by my neck and told me not to scream

By the boyfriend who never made her comfortable enough to say stop

Because somehow suffocating the cries of violated women is the best way to solve a problem…

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Creative | Posted by Hilary W on 05/29/2015

Love For A Season

Columbia Pictures via

My prom dress was too big to fit into the car. I worked my hands around the silky tulle of the rhinestone-studded gown and gathered the fabric into my lap. But as the car picked up speed down the hill, the boy in the driver’s seat took hold of the manual handle, cranking down the window. “Here,” he said. “You can let go.” He motioned to my hand, which was tightly grasping my dress. I let my fingers release the now-wrinkled fabric and watched it billow freely toward the window. My open palm followed the free pieces of silk and my arm glided out of the window as we picked up speed in the cool May evening. I was on my way to prom with a …

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Creative | Posted by Karaleigh S on 04/24/2015

call me a Woman

I am not just pretty.

I am Ethereal.

I am Lethal.

My Eyes are Sharp-Cut Stones


My Smile spreads like Hot Butter

I am



I am


I have Galaxies of Freckles


would take

a Millennia to Explore

My Legs have Traveled


My Brain has Gone Further

call me



I am



I am


I am Lethal.

I am Ethereal.

I am not

I am not

I am not



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Creative | Posted by Saskia G on 04/3/2015


The curve of you,

where the cheek meets the thigh,

is sweeter than lips strawberry

in a tinted photo

which is not your own anymore.

Instead savor

the place of skin wrapped by summer

clothes stretched as you run.

A prickle

of grass at the back of your neck

and sweat on your hairline,

delicate musk

in its stickiness trailing down,

down into the gentle creases

circling the mounds.

You create your own humidity.

Trap it here now,

to use it later or maybe

find it in memory

at that party where you sent the calling,

just sitting, testing,

like smoke in your favorite princess movies

and you were asked to dance.

The first time is power.


Twine them out, those summer tendrils,

use them only when you wish…

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Creative | Posted by Samantha P on 02/6/2015

Basic Human Rights

What are you women truly fighting for?

What rights don’t you women have?

Basic human rights.

My consent for you to approach me and get to know me

Is a basic human right

My body does not define me

My clothes do not describe me

And your words are certainly not inviting


We the people, for the people, by the people

Don’t they mean we the men, for the men, by the men

I would love to walk down the street

And not be whistled at like a dog

I would love to sleep with whomever I want and not be called a slut

You receive a pat on the back while I receive a text

Saying, “whore”

What makes any of this okay?

You feel content in your …

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Creative | Posted by Jules C on 01/30/2015


When I was a little girl my grandma told me that there were princes. Sitting in our house in the Sunset, the N rumbling by, the sky grey and the ocean roaring, she’d tell me about them as I sipped my soup and tore off bread to dip. She said the princes were scattered around, trapped in skyscrapers and under bowling alleys and hidden away in train stations. Some had green eyes, some had black hair, some had baby faces, some were short, some less so. But they were all waiting. They had nothing to do but sit around, doing pushups, combing their hair, shaving their beards till they were just roguish enough for a princess to save them. For a princess with an AK-47 and a leathery attitude to …

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