Like a Girl Issue 05 by Tyler Elise

IS S UE 05

IS S UE 0 5 1

Howdy We are here to build a platform and give recognition to female-identifying artists of any and all mediums. We are here to prove that doing something “like a girl” is not synonymous with “weak,” “weak” or or“inadequate.” “inadequate.” We are here to show you the incredible things that women are capable of. CREATOR & CURATOR TYLER ELISE BLINDERMAN

KATIE EU

@DROPTHEBEES // MODELS: @JUST.ADRAIN @AMANDAKESSARIS

Phases of the week series

OPEYEMI OWA @OMOLEWAOO // LEWA230.WIXSITE.COM/OPEYEMIOWAART

Untitled, 14” x 20” Acrylic, 2019

JENNIFER HINES @ABCTYPOGRAPHY // JENNIFERHINES.DESIGN

Backbone // Bitches Get Shit Done

Get Involved // I’m Crushin’ It

CASSANDRA HARNER @CHARNERART // @DVSTYBVCKET // CHARNERART.COM

AR M PI T H A IR My mom and I are in an argument about my armpit hair. We’re going to the beach. I know my mom doesn’t like my body hair. It’s funny, with all my “questionable” choices, why was this where she chose to finally draw the line? In my last year of college, I “became” a lesbian. My mom wasn’t surprised, but I was blindsided. After I first broke up with my boyfriend she asked me if I met any boys “or girls!” and I was so scandalized she would think I was gay. So, once I told her I met a girl, she was more concerned that she’s a musician like my dad. My girlfriend and I moved in together in a small town in Ohio. It’s something I said I’d never do. But even after we broke up, I decided to stay. I started dating someone else and so did my ex. We tried to stay amiable and avoid running into each other’s new partners in the house. My ex’s new girlfriend’s family disapproves of her. She thinks she’ll never be the ideal partner for a parent’s child. She said, “Who wants their daughter to date a lesbian musician alcoholic?” and I told her that all my sister asked me for Christmas was her band’s CD. I told her about the check my mom sent to make sure she had enough money to go to the doctor when she was sick. Sometimes Mom assumes I’m ungrateful. I just don’t really know how to say thanks. My parents are plenty capable of guilt, but I never felt it for being gay. In High School, I had that Christian fear for my gay friends’ eternal suffering, trying to save their souls by getting them to change. But when I came out, it was with a “We just want you to be happy.” So, here we are at dinner with my family and we cannot come to an understanding about armpit hair, of all things, and it seems so arbitrary. They’ve accepted that I’m gay, helped me pay for art school, I’m living with my ex and dating a polyamorous bisexual woman, in Akron, fired again from a full time job, but I’m still on food stamps even with a full time job. So they want to buy my house that I live in with my ex. “We just want you to be happy.” So all I have to do is shave, right? And I can pay back everything I owe them. I recover every memory I have about my body hair. When I was mortified when I realized I forgot to shave my pit stubble and I thought everyone could see. When I had a horrible rash for months on my legs but kept shaving anyway. The hundreds of dollars I spent on laser hair removal that didn’t work. The insulting comments I’ve gotten from people I’ve dated--a man and a woman--about my “man legs.” The UTI’s from shaving my pubes.

The insecurity at the swimming pool. I freed myself from caring about it anymore, letting it grow as it wants. Now, I get more compliments about it from women and men. I’ve inspired women to grow their own hair out too. I’ve even monetized it. I model for fine art classes, but also for chat rooms hashtagged #allnatural #hairy #lesbian. We all want more ways to be able to accept ourselves how we are. Eventually I make a deal with my mom. “If you pay for me to get a massage, then throw in a full body wax at the spa.” She immediately agrees. I think business transactions are easier for us than emotional unpacking. When it comes down to it, I’m comfortable shaved or not. I grew out my hair so it would occupy less space in my brain. But if my own mother can’t relax on her vacation because her daughter couldn’t just this once shave clean for the beach, then nobody is going to be comfortable. It’s not worth it. I have bent and twisted myself into so many shapes, accommodating all sorts of situations and preferences. I’m privileged, I’m “super chill,” I’m neurotypical. I’m always the one less bothered by things, so isn’t it my responsibility to make everyone’s lives easier? It’s just hair. It’s only what’s on the surface that concerns them. I’m still queer, whether people can see it or not. The next morning while I’m wrestling with the Keurig, my mom says “I’m sorry about the whole thing about the hair yesterday. If I’m embarrassed, that’s my problem. You don’t have to do it, you can do whatever you want. Okay?” “Wow.” I took a second to look at her. I didn’t expect her to come around so fast. “Thanks, Mom.” I hugged her. She turned to scoot back onto the couch to watch House Flippers. I drank my coffee next to her, our feet touching. She still bought me the massage for my birthday.

EMILY STROUD @EMILYJSTROUD // EMILYJSTROUD.COM

FIXED, graphite and colored pencil on paper, 2019, 12 x 9 inches

MOM, graphite and colored pencil on paper, 2019, 9 x 12 inches

fluid frame #1, oil on wood panel, 2019, 16 x 16 inches // fluid frame #3, oil on wood panel, 2019, 16 x 16 inches

PINK, oil on wood panel, 2019, 60 x 52 inches

KATIE FLIEGEL @CALICO_DRUM

shortcake

For each other

Summer cresting

NINA MILLER

@CHRONICALLYQUEEN // CHRONICALLYQUEEN.WIXSITE.COM/BLOG

The Flare-Up

Endometriosis and Adenomyosis

Hashimotoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Thyroiditis // Psychogenic Non-Epileptic Seizures

JOTA RAMOS @TONSDEPRETA

AD N NO.1

P H OTO PE RFO RMANC E Assuming that we experience in our daily routine a dystopia, consequence of a forced diaspora that provokes a sensation of no place, the Afrodescendant carries the scars of an alienation where the search for whitening made the desire to be close to the Eurocentric narrative greater than the desire to approach the African narrative. According to the definition of Fábio Kabral “Afrofuturism is a movement to recreate the past, to transform the present and to project a new future through our own optics”. Fundamental to a new identity in the construction of the future from the African past, through the ancestry, art, science, technology and spirituality that are engraved in our ADN is essential to resignify the present. The mantle that covers the world has unimaginable powers, as well as the powers of its ADN, our ADN, the cradle of civilization. Concept: Jota Ramos Photography: Felipe Paes

ADN No.1

AMBER SYNNETT @MANALALA67 // FACEBOOK: AMBERSYNNETTARTWORK

Wax Optic

1 1/2 lbs.

YULIA TSINKO @DREAMSPLATS // YULIATSINKO.COM

The Dancer

The Pianist

The Dreamer

SHARON VOLPE

@SHARONVOLPEARTWORK // SHOPSHARONVOLPEARTWORK.COM

Camp

Yellow Burst

Double Trouble

Fierce Flowers

Softie Brush

First Day of Spring

NAT RAUM @NATRAUM // NATRAUM.COM

Too Tall // Vacancy

Full Brightness // Idle Hour

Climbing

ANX IE T Y F U C K E D M Y IM AGIN ATIO N imagine money imagine fame imagine believing in God imagine wearing a Don’t Tread On Me shirt in 2019 imagine not being addled by iced coffee (and/or Red Bull Green Edition) imagine satisfaction unblocking your abusive ex at 1:30 AM texting him “fuck you” and then reblocking him imagine the fever dream of reality balloons tied up outside a city jail mezamaro in a fancy bottle you’re afraid to pour from uneven ground, crooked horizon lines fireworks so far away you can only see them fifteen Mexican Coke caps lined up on the kitchen table intermittent rain but perpetual puddles imagine actually seeing beauty around you imagine faith

I HAT E SO M U C H A BO UT T HE TH ING S YO U CHOO S E TO B E why did I have to become a size queen at nineteen? I really set myself up for disappointment but I also can’t cum with my eyes open so perhaps we’ve thrown realistic expectations out the window he told me it’s mildly disturbing I keep count (not fucked up, just mildly disturbing apparently) because people are people, not achievements and all I imagined was my Xbox saying “Achievement Unlocked: Human Emotion Finally learn what it means to feel.”

WAVE R / Q U IV E R stuck on the words “waver” and “quiver” stuck between wavering and quivering what does it mean to quiver? what does it mean to waver? one is a synonym for the other but arguably also the opposite to waver: shake with a quivering motion, become unsteady or unreliable be undecided between two opinions or courses of action, be irresolute (I always mean the second or the fourth) to quiver: tremble or shake with a slight rapid motion I waver because I’ve been wronged I quiver because I don’t care and I can’t feel my face or toes anymore roll me a blunt and play with the cellulite on my ass if I sit on your face will you please shut the fuck up? what is actually the point of making an effort? is anything that starts on the internet ever meant to be? can it be? grip my thighs as they quiver, relish in my moans before I waver pour yourself another glass of rose take me he says “so this is what your early twenties are supposed to be like” don’t I agree? god help me if this is a portrait of 23 fucking charming orange streetlamps fade give way to blue and grey haze the bell tower you can see from my window obscured where am I? validate me, daddy my brain is doing that thing again calibrate, calibrate who the fuck do I think I am? don’t you know who I think I am?

kind of feel like I am the entire world kind of feel like I’m going to rot alongside all 1,857 of my unread mass emails not sure, will keep you posted I’m the dying orchid on my kitchen counter the pizza box in the back of my car regifted novelty socks that say I’m A Delicate Fucking Flower the last sheet of film the first one you call the second circle of hell your worst motherfucking nightmare (you don’t even know my real name) do you mind? this is a private conversation

KATHERINE OLIVEIRA @KATIE.OLIVEIRA

P O E MS I WROT E MY F R ES H MAN Y EAR O F COLLE GE

WE M E T T H E N IG HT IT H AP P E NE D. I don’t know you, Or I didn’t. Not until that night at least and Not until that night and I still don’t really know you I don’t think I really met you, But didn’t I? I don’t know you Or I didn’t Or I do but That wasn’t the point wasn’t it I didn’t realize that the status of our knowing Gave the rest of the world permission To call me a liar. I don’t know you and Why would you care to know me now? (Why do I care if you know me?) There was no hospital bill anyhow, And it wasn’t worth choking back up They said that my silence needed to be words I didn’t realize my silence otherwise Gave the rest of the world permission To call it overblown. They don’t know you, yet What they half-know authorizes them To tell me I’m wrong To tell me I’ll be fine (I guess they think it’s a good punchline?) To bring me to the party at your home My home is in me and they set it on fire. Brought my home back to yours, I get it: I don’t know you, but Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m trying to say Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m looking for, It’s looking like you looking at me looking at I don’t know who,

JE A LO USY jealousy is a rude bitch you could draw her family tree on the walls of my chest carve it into my ribs, and I’d wear her like armor anxiety’s mother insecurity’s daughter desperation’s older sister you could tattoo her face on the inside of my throat where the words choke up like the clogged garbage disposal what a cliché simile for a disturbed feeling you could wrap her arms around my neck like your youngest cousin– she just wants a piggyback ride and maybe she means no harm but gravity holds grudges and she’ll make your shoulders tired. aren’t you tired? let it go, he whispers but doesn’t he know if it was that easy I would’ve by now?

I G U ES S T HIS M A K E S M E A CH E ATE R This morning I wrote about how you Are my soulmate, This morning I wrote you into my coffee and my sneaker laces And every step I took was a tap into my phone To you My Soulmate This morning, I think now, was a week ago Because a week ago I smashed the promise. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m sorry.

RIGATONI GARRIDO

@RAVIOLIANTIPASTA // TWITTER: ARTSYRIGATONI // RIGATONIGARRIDO.COM

3, Collage, 11 in. X 8 in.

At Least Try, Collage, 11 in. X 8 in.

Tropical (Whats wrong), Collage, 11 in. X 8 in.

Presentation, Oil on canvas, 48 in. X 60 in.

The Princess of Chic-fil-ay, Oil on canvas, 48 in. X 30 in.

MARIESA MAGLIONE @MARIESAMAGLIONE // @PLAGUEFOCUS // PLAGUEFOCUS.COM

Mourning Mothers

In the dark I could only see her face, of course, I went closer // Grandpa

The Fates

Signs of a Witch

LINDSEY J BRYAN @LINDSEYBRYANART // FACEBOOK: LINDSEY J BRYAN ILLUSTRATION // TWITTER: LINDSEYBRYANART // LINDSEYBRYANART.COM

Strong, Independent Space Creature

SAGE KATHERINE ENDERTON @SKENDERTON

DEAR

I fear I waited too long to tell you of hurt, so long that there is no more pain left to spoon feed you. My bedside jar of water has run dry, and instead I have been filling it with in turn, and you,

religious paraphernalia that fills me, with solace, with longing. Or maybe, it has filled me twice,

has snapped into oblivion.

and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve forgotten that our red string

The lights donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t turn on anymore when I dance alone; floorboards

I leave them off so as not to see your shadow seeping into my when I come too close.

How does the morning sunlight feel against the ache soothe the burn.

in your stomach? Use red vinegar to

This place sounds like you, vapid and forgettable. the noise, but

You taught me how to drown out

your voice is a horror film score and I think you may have taught me the wrong lesson. I am a buckling knee and you have always been the asphalt. Today I made a pair of earrings; a tiger and a deer. I modeled them after the two of us, but I will leave it up to you to pick which one you are I have already made my decision.

SHANNON KURZYNIEC @SHANNON_KURZYNIEC_ART

Because of you Dad

Caution: Not Child Resistant

Heart Broken

Music to My Ear

Used, Unwanted, and Unworthy

TINY PINK @TINYPINKDRAWINGS

paper plane

avalanche // chromosomal

city // holding it in

rock bottom // opening

N.K @FLXW.D

‘WHE N WI LL I GE T M Y W H O L ES O M E EXP E R I ENC E W IT H K E A N U REE VE S ’ O R ‘T HO U G H TS I HAV E W H IL E A P P LY ING MY NIGHT S K I NCA RE ROUT IN E ’ I want notifications that aren’t from my boss / I want it known that I don’t just mean that as a line in a poem / but it’s definitely going to be a line in a poem / I want to be young again / or my youthfulness to lag / and fresh sheets without having to complete a full-body workout to lay them / or then going ahead and ruining them with this rose oil / I bet you anything that aliens exist and are living plastic-free / meanwhile / I scroll past a sponsored ad for an Australian clay mask with RAVE REVIEWS!!! / and only linger for the smallest moment / meanwhile / my sister wants to break in her new heels for graduation / I just want these break-outs to stop / If I get into bed right now I could have 5 hours and 43 minutes of sleep / If I get into bed right now I could spend those 5 hours and 43 minutes in a dream where I run into Keanu Reeves in a busy airport / where it’s actually pretty realistic because I crash into him after tripping over my own feet / and he only lingers for the smallest moment / but it’s enough time for him to lean close and whisper / ‘your skin is absolutely glowing’

BRIDGETTE BLANTON @TINYPENCILSTUDIO // TINYPENCIL.STUDIO

A Woman in Harmony

Better Blues

In Full Bloom

Unique Flower

HALEY PARKS EASTON

@HALEY.FORGETMEKNOT // FACEBOOK: HAL.EASTON // HALEYEASTONART.COM

Easton_greenlady

Easton_kria

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SelkieMoonGoddess

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TONYA VINOGRADOVA @TONYA__VI

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Untitled

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Untitled

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Untitled

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Untitled

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Untitled

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Untitled

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APU

@APU_SOMETREE // TWITTER: @APU_SOMETREE

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angel & magic lamp

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scissors // vertias simplex

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GINGER COCHRAN @GINGERCOCHRANART // FACEBOOK: GINGERCOCHRANART // GINGERCOCHRANART.COM

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Opulent series

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Opulent series

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Opulent series

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Opulent series

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Opulent series

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SALOMÃ&#x2030;E LEVY @MISA.MISA1120 // @WETHEIMMIGRANTS18

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O U R SC H O O L S TO DAY Why do we learn that sex is something to prevent When we should learn that rape is not okay Sitting in a classroom from sunrise to day Only memorizing what people find useful Instead of finding a true voice That can break the barriers we face And speak the truth of what America was founded on Why do we not teach our children, To love who they want Or that it is okay to be different in every measure When they are trapped in this bubble Thinking that everything the crowd does is okay When deep down they have a roar deep inside them That is waiting to come out We should teach our children that it is okay to cry And that having sex doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t make them a slut And that it is okay to wear makeup , Have facial hair , Or not look like the VS Angel in December. That success is not a straight path, And our futures remain a blur. When will schools start teaching children the truth? Instead of putting an end to after school tutoring, We should learn how to put the camps to an end Instead of solving math problems, Why arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t finding a solution to climate change? Or finding ways to help out our Flint children? We should learn about our world, And how our present can solve it. But instead we are trapped in a book, With little time and no space to speak.

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LEIGH GONZALES

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Like a Girl

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ANDY MCFLY & SABRINA IAMONTE @SABSARDINA // @ANDY MCFLY // @FAILURE_TO_NOT_FORGET

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7 // 12

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26 // 174

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229 // 314

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265

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328

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SYDNEY STRICKLAND @HORRORIBLE // TWITTER: @GHOSTSYD

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Too Many Issues (2019)

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I hope you find what youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve been looking for (2019)

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Nasty Girl (2019)

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The World is No Longer His and it Never Truly Was (2019)

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NINA Q. ALLEN @AAMETHYSTWAVES

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Mother of Pearl, 2019 -10 x15.84in Tritone Photograph of Original Drawing/ Painting/Sculpture (Installation) on Matte Paper. Model:38 x 50 inches (x2) Mixed Media on Stonehenge Paper - 4 ft x 6 ft, Mixed Media on Wood Canvas Panel.

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Mâ&#x20AC;¦NATURE vs. NURTURE, 2019 - 12 x6.69in Tritone Photograph of Original Sculpture on Matte Paper. Model:5.678 ft x 5.675 ft x 2.7ft Sculpture. HDPE Drain Pipe, Industrial/Acrylic/Tempera/Aerosol Paint, Water, Soap, Glue, Twine, & Marine Braided Rope.

RHAIAH SPOONERKNIGHT @BADGALWAYWAY // RHAIAHSK.COM

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Ways World series

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Ways World series

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FRIJKE COUMANS @FRIJKECOUMANS

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Is appearance our new religion? series

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Is appearance our new religion? series

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Is appearance our new religion? series

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Is appearance our new religion? series

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DESTINY RAMOS

@THAGHETTONORAHJONES // THAWISEWOMBYN.BLOGSPOT.COM

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SH E I can hardly remember a time where I wasn’t mad at myself. Picking and prodding at aspects of my inner workings I had become a kaleidoscope of glue and tape and string held together by childish ego My back was flexible from years of bending over to accommodate myself into spaces that didn’t fit me, Into positions no one has asked me to be in, but I had offered. silent in my discomfort. my stomach blistered with anger and exasperation And though I tried countless times It was the very things I had so desperately wanted That seemed to slip from the skin of my fingertips And fuck why wasn’t god listening When I prayed And why couldn’t I be show what I was doing wrong Not because I was angry but so I could fix it So I waited I begun to unload all of myself unto this idea I had of what god was And I became a bystander while wondering where the passion of being went I continued to look for things outside of me continued to strip layers of my skin off to try and figure out who I was, What I wanted. I left pieces of my heart behind while I begged to god to know that I was worthy and to see my humility To acknowledge the sacrifices that I had made Raw and exposed and alone I was still calling on the most high for clarity As if SHE were an entity outside of myself you see even in silence I couldn’t figure out that Though the cosmos are vast and wide And we are an iota of a millisecond in the records of existence I am important. And I am powerful

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And I am god. God disguised as woman god disguised as this skin God resting her head praying to god at night God calling out for herself like a lover I am god.

T H A W IS E WO M BY N My dreams open portals to realms in which I am more wholly myself. mother God takes me by the hand and leads me to the doorway between dimensions but the choice is mine alone. I look to her for guidance, ask her what it is she would like me to know but there is nothing more than the reflection of myself in a mirror looking back at me. Am I willing to leave behind the only me I have known do I dare cross the threshold between worlds to where I alone am creator? like a serpent, I shed my skin and sink into the dark waters of the mother womb here there is stillness. I breath in time to the beating of the god heart her blood heals me beckons me home the image of source reflected back at me weeps tears of joy fractals of colored light that bounce off of my bones I am nothingness without creation gestation and then birth I emerge from the frothy waters like a flower reaching for sun light Feet attached to leg Thigh attached to hip Attached to belly attached to breast I am whole I am wombyn

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Wombyn created in the image of god Perfection Somewhere in the recesses of old Memory I think I should fear Curl back unto myself But the blanket of reality is thin now Malleable I watch myself through the eyes of the fly and hundreds of me stare back I am everything Fear melts like putty in the warmth of my skin I do not watch it as it goes Something beyond the doorway calls for me I take a step toward it I am home

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ASH MOON @ASH_M0ON // @BARENAKEDCHATS

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T HE H O OVE R, T HE HE AT H A ND ME The month began with my birthday (August the 2nd, remember that, I’ll be expecting cards). It was hot that summer, warming my body and reminding me that I was alive. I gave thanks for that sunshine almost daily! “Thank you sun-friend, for bringing joy and ease, and for making me sweat so much when I train that it sends me in to a state of catharsis!” I spent much of my time at the Hampstead Heath ladies swimming pond, that serene place of beauty amongst the loudness of London (and the loudness of my mind). It was a moment of stillness amongst the bustle, an oasis. I had my routine down to a tee; get the train to West Hampstead, change for the overground to Hampstead Heath- 2 stops. Purchase a brown paper bag of cherries from the fruit and veg stall outside the station, cross the road to the bakers for either A) an iced latte if the weather is hot B) an Americano with milk if the weather is cooler (in my bamboo reusable cup of course-no single use plastic here!). I then cross back over the road and up the path that leads on to the heath itself. I adore this path, it’s lined with grand old beech trees that give the sense of having entered a natural cathedral, a feeling of peace always greets me here, leading me away from the city and in to this pocket of nature. Once I reach the ladies pond, I change in to my costume, have a very quick cold shower to help my body acclimatise (if I am already wet from the shower my lungs tend to remain slightly more expanded when I get in!). Then I pad across the decking, saying hello to the life guards, and gently lower myself in to the water. The ducks paddle by, women chat to each other, whether they’ve met before or not. I can smell the plants on the banks, dead leaves breaking down, the water and the silt, and if it’s hot the scent of sun on skin. After I’ve completed a few lengths I settle down on the lawn, get my book out, and tuck in to the bag of cherries. This is where I went for my birthday. I had loosely planned a picnic with a handful of friends, but once the morning of the 2nd of august had arrived I was anxious to the point of nausea about the the thought of talking to anyone, about my friends seeing what a mess I was, about the fact that if anyone asked me how I was there was zero chance of me not crying. I texted everyone to say it was off. I went anyway, half ashamed and half relieved that I wouldn’t have to make conversation. I lay on the grass next to the lake, burying my face in to the pages of a book (A Room With A View I believe it was) and tried to focus on the words sliding across those pages and not on what a flimsy, sorry state of a human specimen I was. I felt limp, rung out, like an over used flannel.

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I had woken up that morning to a forest of post it notes covering the walls of my flat, telling me that The Hoover loved me (I call him this because I’m not allowed to use his real name for legal reasons, he was obsessed with cleaning, and because our relationship sucked the majority of me out of me), that he was sorry, that I completed him, that I was a princess and so on… The intensity of the post-its made me waver in my decision to leave him I admit. I was so numb mentally that at moments like that I thought why not? it will be easier. Surely it’s all just a big mistake? Surely he is who he says he is, he works where he says he works, he is from where he says he is from, he really has lost his bank card for the 4th time this year and needs money from me? Surely all those designer shoes he had then hidden in the dishwasher really were just gifts? Surely he does feel ashamed for backing me in to a corner so that I chose to have an abortion, rather than keep the baby? He couldn’t have realised that I was left bleeding on the toilet floor, whilst simultaneously throwing up in to the bath? Of course he hadn’t realised, because he didn’t care. A loud chorus of Happy Birthday penetrated my soggy brain and I looked up from my book to see a large group of women dancing around the lawn, prosecco bottles held aloft. At the centre a fellow leo, my birthday snatcher, a beaming, bright eyed and thoroughly sloshed lady in a bright pink dress soaking up the love and having the time of her life. How dare you have the same birthday as me, and be here celebrating whilst being celebrated! I’ve never met another 2nd of august human before, so why now, today? At that moment seeing them was a step too far for my fragile state of mind. I lay there in the sunshine, and I cried and cried and cried. I cried so much that I couldn’t breathe, I cried until my face and towel were sopping with tears and snot. I allowed myself to be completely overcome with self pity, shame and grief. And somehow, the numbness in my mind began to ease. Then, I stood up, wiped my sticky blotchy face on my already soaking towel, marched myself to the edge of the lake and leapt in. Enough was enough. I needed to act, I needed to own myself again, to remember how truly loving myself felt, to hold myself accountable for the choices I had made and know that that was okay, that I was human and whole. I swam in that cool water allowing it to soothe my puffy eyes, and with each stroke I imagined a little more of The Hoover being washed away.

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EMILY LAMPMAN @EMILYYLAMPMAN // TWITTER: @EMILYYLAMPMAN

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Black Paintings series

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Black Paintings series

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Black Paintings series

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Black Paintings series

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LAURA-ANNE MEYER @LALA.WANDERS.ART

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Blossom Out // No Shame

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Thinking About You

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DARIA AGAD @DARIAAGAD

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Assisi, print on canvas

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Bianco, print on canvas

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Faded (oil on canvas)

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REANNA DIPAOLO @REANNA142 // REANNAART.COM

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Houston, 24x30 inches painted in acrylic with pallet knives on a gallery wrapped canvas. 2019

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Coy pond, 36x48 inches painted in acrylic with pallet knives on a gallery wrapped canvas. 2019 Explosion, 48x60 inches painted in acrylic with pallet knives on a gallery wrapped canvas. 2017

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Panic, 48x48 painted in acrylic with pallet knives on a gallery wrapped canvas. 2019

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B.ELAE @B.ELAE // FACEBOOK: B.ELAE

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I. I am still here. There are many days I couldn’t tell you how this heart still thuds like it’s never been hurt before ...but it does. My shoes don’t fit anyone else’s feet, and no one else’s shoes fit mine ...but I’ve still got shoes. I do not always see the way out. And my nails may bend as I climb from the belly of the deepest holes intended to consume me ...but I get out. I am flawed. Still trying to find the healthiest way to face the day -often tired and sometimes hauling minimal hope...but I still face the day. I stand, wildly. Above buried bones and sludge, and tar and cement ...but I stand. - B.Elae, “R.I.S.E”

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II. Perhaps, it’s withholding a moment for yourself as you reassemble the fragments that’ve fallen from your core and onto the ground, or reviving a joy you’d struggled to find Maybe even standing in front of a mirror so you no longer crouch at the sight of yourself, or sending a call to voicemail because you’ve right to take a break from pouring into without anything to pour Or, maybe, it’s finally taking a moment to rest as you’re always in such a hurry, or playing songs over too many times to count because it makes you feel damn good Maybe it’s running with your feet bare over blades of grass in the middle of summer, or two icecream cones with one in each hand Maybe it’s laughing or laughing until you cry or simply finding new hobbies or bringing old ones back, or learning to do things alone or with other people. Maybe it is remembering to breathe this time instead of always holding your breath... Maybe it’s taking your medication or standing up to medication that isn’t making you feel better Maybe it’s accepting that you belong just as everyone else. - B.Elae, “U belong”

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III. “I am not troubled by the love I give. I seek out no reward or admiration for giving and often overgiving. I listen and love and give because it is who I am. This war we’ve got going on -between usis not because I am often the sanctuary for the worries behind the people I love. It’s not this perpetual towering expectation of overgiving in return. The war is that, I seldom ask to be held, to be loved and given sanctuary -not to be savedbut to be cupped by hands that hold some sort of altruism ...when I am fatigued... but when I do ask, you use your hands to cover my mouth instead. I feud with this idea, not that other people are like me nor that I am like other people, but that we’ve lost this humanness in being for one another, and that I find this stifling war zone where I am one of the few beings left with a willingness to share an unselfish kindness that should be common amongst these homes known as our bodies. I suppose, the feud, also... is expecting at all.” - B.Elae, “War: The Love I Give”

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I V. “I am no longer overwhelmed by being alone in holding onto my own hands or cupping my own flesh though the holes may feel profound though it seems as if I am the only shelter that is careful with tensed bones.” -B.Elae

V. Where you feel you’ve been dismantled I hope you find, that you are so magnificently designed Give or take without such doubt beneath the pain, you’ve room to sprout. - B.Elae, “Room To Sprout”

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VI . “There are girls who never share themselves completely, only during certain spells And if they hold themselves together, then no one can ever tell They’d weigh up against a world, but always sought it through Most familiar with themselves, with no one else to hold onto...” -B.Elae

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YELLOW @YEAH_LOWKEY

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black

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books

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patchwork // underwear

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ALISHA SAXENA @ALISHA_SAXENA

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T H E D IL E M M A O F T HE M O C K IN GBIRD Societal norms As a unit, they serve as her greatest enemy Offering her bleak paths of Discontentedly riding the wave of femininityfor safety Or being socially homelessif she were to embrace her identity She has been cornered into choosing between discomfort or seclusion In her town, which indeed lacks obscurity, Her mortal enemy holds a great precedent, Having manufactured an environment Where normality is sought And originality is whisked away It was years ago when she realized that she was not the average girl Her identity transcended the expectations of a girl It was rumored that she was not Like a girl She prayed to her celestial being that she should feel comfort in the frolicking skirt and blouse Not in the button up shirt and pants She prayed to her celestial being That she should be enthused By the lengthy discussions of upkeeping appearance And the prospects of her near future In domestic housekeeping It was an internal battle to Choose between rationale and truth One day, she chose truth She expected the change of scenery But her expectation of such Did not stop the sting of the action For years ahead

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DOMINIQUE MARSHALL @DMARZDESIGNS // DMARZDESIGNS.COM

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Give Yourself Permission

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Carve Out Time

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Work Your Magic

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Goal Digger

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Soul Sing

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Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Okay To Make Mistakes

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CHARLENE ECKELS @CHARLENE.CHARLENE.CHARLENE // CHARLENEART.COM

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Itonama

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Machineri

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Moxeno

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Pacahuara

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JELENA GRUBOR @_JELENA_GRUBOR // JELENAGRUBOR.COM

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Dance, mixed media, digital graphic / 2019 PostCard, mixed media, digital graphic / 2019

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Velvet, mixed media, digital graphic / 2019 XoX, mixed media, digital graphic / 2019

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JORI TURPIN @HELLOJORIPHOTOGRAPHY

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Untitled

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CAT KOCSES @CATKART // ETSY: CATKILLUSTRATION

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Dream home

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Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s too much

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To each their own

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M. CONSUELO LARENAS @CONSUELOSTT // CONSUELOST.COM

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Cyclic woman // Lost and found

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Menstruation leaves

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Places I go in my mind

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Ww are nature

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DESIREÃ&#x2030; MOORE @SUGALICKER // DESIREENICHOLEMOORE.COM

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Stills from Over and Under and Through 2013-2016 Single Channel Video with Sound

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Stills from Over and Under and Through 2013-2016 Single Channel Video with Sound

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Stills from Over and Under and Through 2013-2016 Single Channel Video with Sound

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FRANCENA OTTLEY @LEBLEUART // CENAGRAPHY.ONFABRIK.COM

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