SISTAH'S ARTS
SISTAH'S ARTS
“Through art, we put up a mirror to those parts of society we're not really allowed to question otherwise. It is a site of imagination. We can write our utopias into existence. We can paint a utopia. We can envision different types of living, existing and relationships and whatever else.”
Suhaiymah Manzoor-Khan
POETRY & PROSE
POETRY & PROSE
"Art is maybe one of the only sites in which imagination and feeling are legitimate forms of knowledge and so I sometimes feel like, with poetry, that there is something about emotion and evoking emotion, that surpasses any other form."
1.
sistahs. by Theophina Gabriel
2.
dear little black girl by Moses Kamanga
3.
Sista, Sista by Mattie Goddard
4.
It didn't feel like a period by Dayna Wolton
5.
Gaslight by Gina Agnew
6.
El Toreo by Sasha Kaan
sistahs.
blinding dark
will always cut the light
in half
drown it swallow it
soothe the burn
my sisters and i
are tranquil night
our black shoulders carry
sleep before the dawn
we heal each other
with rough-palmed
souls, balmed with
oil, hearts rising like
dust we pack
the day with song
to break and build
break and build
and break
our dreams aloud
the sound of it
we can only sing
as
better days.
Theophina Gabriel


Stills from HAIR. By Asia Ahmed
Stills from Women In Sport. By Asia Ahmed
It didn’t feel like a period
More like an exclamation mark
When I was told that my own irregular and painful ones
so painful it seemed I had to put my life on pause, each time I stopped to bleed
Were polycystic ovaries.
It didn’t feel like a period
More like an exclamation mark
When I thought that my breast was sore because of menstruation or a tight bra
But really, I found out
There was a lump growing
Which had to be cut out
Taking part of a nipple with it.
So it didn’t feel like a period
More like a question mark
When I realised my body was telling me it was just not a hospitable home for life
Difficult to carry and sustain it
Difficult to feed, with mothers milk
The most natural thing in the world,
they say.
The world has tried to tell me this womb and these breasts was my bodies primary function, so was I even a woman without?
These questions lapped like waves on the edge of my conscious while falling asleep
Though I had never believed that before
And the feminist in me, wouldn’t entertain such a silly notion while awake
And you know what, I thought,
it’s odd to feel this way when I
never
even
wanted
a goddamn baby, in the first place
But I guess I always wanted what I couldn’t have.
These things I tell myself do not matter
Feel like a betrayal
Of the body I’ve tried, learned, fought, taught myself to love
One I still don’t love sometimes as a sum of parts, but can appreciate as a whole.
A vessel that carries me safely through many storms
That while they may batter and bruise me
They do not and cannot break me.
For now, it is enough
yet it is also everything
that I dare to write this love letter to my younger self who never thought she would see beauty in what I can now
And also I write for me, in this very moment. when I can’t help but think of my body as a failing
I write for her and in doing so I manage to remind myself
how I love my brown skin that glitters and glows when I bathe in the warmth of the last of the summer sun
And the freckles that dance across it, with the reckless abandon of youth
And my brown eyes that shine brighter than the lights of the city that birthed me
And the hair of my legs, a gift from my ancestors and a recent accessory I now wear with pride
Even the mind that I wrestle with daily, I can love in this moment.
because it is why I am who I am
And for now, at least,
that is enough.
Dayna Wolton

. By Daniela Gil Nieves & Niki Tse
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Unravel. By Niki Tse

Vibrant Quatuor. By Lola Kaeppelin & Alice Berry

El Toreo
I beckon him from an elevated plane,
Between us a chasm the breadth of a hair.
I gaze into cavernous, carnivorous pupils,
Spurred by the sweat and the smell of it,
By this audience of drinks and the moon.
He will not come quietly.
Not by his sureness in his legs,
He would have his horn in my guts before
The spark of reflex touches my feet,
He sees me pinned and prone but I
Will not go quietly tonight.
I will most gladly have this dance
And spin him into fever,
Madura hips swinging freely round him,
My red lace frothing his nose,
Stirring him loose and predictable,
Terciro de muleta.
He can have me then,
Abandoned to his delirium,
And the players shall retire onstage
Until a sword is fetched.
Sasha Kaan
No Rest For The Wicked Queen. By Blanche Malet

Waning. By Minni Harrop
dear little black girl
i know you’re angry at da world
cos your experiences wouldn’t have been so hard if you were white and that’s just that.
i wanna start of by saying sorry
sorry the world never gave you a chance to speak
cos to me your voice is beautiful
why’s it that you’re considered an angry black woman and she’s considered a cute little girl
sorry ur afro is considered messy
and her straight pony tail with jelled down edges considered trendy
dear little black boy
you been taught that
being black is freezing
needing
starving
thieving
receiving
dirty looks from the police
no hope from ur teachers
they expect u end up in the streets
i hate the state of the world lately
i am a livid black woman
i want to scream from the roofs tops
because most days it actually feels like
i can’t breathe
and i want justice
i want justice
for tamir rice
trayvon martin
alton sterling
kendrick johnson
breona taylor
free jibril asamji
my brother was 17 when the system ate him up
& now he doing 7 years
next time i’m gone get to hug my bro we gone be 27
i want justice
Moses Kamanga
Sista, Sista
Sista sista how does it feel?
Holding the world up with your shoulders,
Balancing out the right and wrong
Your smile is like sunshine in the morning, even when it is painted on
Legs grounded like trees, your arms the branches we all hang off and climb
Sista Sista I know there are 1000 constellations in your brain
Your words like clouds painted across the sky. Your truth winter wind and your laughter summer sun
A multitude of emotions stitched across your face
Each hair a blade of grass
Strength Wisdom Empathy Power
Rise up
I wish you could see you are what pieces the world together
Sista Sista together we are always stronger.
Mattie Goddard
Gaslight
A shadow of a doubt
Lurks and flickers in flames of distrust
Igniting moments of uncertainty
The beast within me projected up the wall
Almost unrecognisable
through your eyes
She scolds me with blindfolded guilt
Through her ‘how could you?’s and ‘why?’s
You dim my glow
To dissolve the shadow of
Your idle, unambitious truth.
A bruised ego striking back
Whispering to my soul:
‘Everything you’ve done, I have proof’
You drain me.
Refusing to relent until you change me
or rearrange me so I fit with your vision
Of
possessing me
obsessing me
digressing me from life
To bind me to motherhood or cuff me as a wife.
Bellicose on both sides
Hands covered with soot and coal
Little fuel to survive…
Lucky for me. I’m electric.
Pioneering
Futuristic
Commandeering
Realistic
Fantastic
Bombastic
Not mouldable or elastic
And I won’t spring back.
Your toxic monoxide has finally run out.
You can’t gaslight me. I don’t run on that.
Though your fire may burn, it’s my right to rescind
I’ll blow you out in one, like a candle in the wind
Gina Agnew

Waxing. By Minni Harrop
ARTIST SHOWCASE
ARTIST SHOWCASE



Elsa Gallimore
Elsa Gallimore
Elsa Gallimore is a London-based 3D textile designer, creating beautiful, eclectic works of art.
Check out her work at Erillomag Textiles.
