Creative | Posted by Jo E on 01/22/2016

Bisexuality Isn’t Real, My Ass.

Somehow she ended up sitting next to me on the couch as the five of us snuggled. Three of us ended up on the L shaped couch, the other two on the floor. And there she was. Next to me, sitting back after she had gotten the movie—“The Shining”—set up on her TV.

It didn’t take long for me to forget about my discomfort and focus on the movie, which was good, and not so scary that I couldn’t watch. But then she grabbed my arm and pulled it around her, lying her body back against my chest, and I could smell how nice she smelled — she was obsessed with nice-smelling lotions and hair sprays. I tried not to let her feel the tension that she inspired in my …

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Creative | Posted by Jordan P on 12/4/2015

Are You Beach Body Ready?

“Beach body ready?”

The words claw at my brain

digging between the intricate folds of my unconscious

the instant I step onto the crowded subway.

My legs move to a seat as if they had brains of their own

because my eyes are transfixed on the neon yellow billboard ahead

I stare.

 

At the white woman’s sultry facial expression

her breasts protruding out of her yellow bikini

the frizzless blonde hair

size 20 waist

large hips

arched back

small nose

opened legs.

 

This woman doesn’t exist.

She is an object used to sell.

Exploited across Manhattan

telling women to try her weight loss powder

because just look how well it worked!

Isn’t it so nice of her to want to help womankind?

 

I know she is photo-shopped.…

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

Nameless

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.

https://instagram.com/p/7b53Pmlv2S/?taken-by=ladyist

https://instagram.com/p/7b53Pmlv2S/?taken-by=ladyist

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

Unmasked

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

Work

On moving on

Work

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 http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51RGP0YGFSL.jpg

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

and

My Smile spreads like Hot Butter

I am

Everything

and

I am

Nothing

I have Galaxies of Freckles

that

would take

a Millennia to Explore

My Legs have Traveled

but

My Brain has Gone Further

call me

a

Woman

I am

Nothing

and

I am

Everything

I am Lethal.

I am Ethereal.

I am not

I am not

I am not

just

pretty.

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

Pheromones

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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