‼️72-hour flash poetry contest. Deadline time is below. Complete every step 🥊 to qualify:⠀
🥊 Use the Throwdown theme in the photo. Share your entry as a post and/or story using: #evepoetrycontest and @eve_poetry ⠀
🥊 Comment below, tagging 2 friends to participate.⠀
🥊 Like this post then Share it in your story tagging me.⠀
🏆 3* entries will be selected and featured on my story, and as a post on @evepoetrygroup ⠀
⌛️This Thursday Throwdown ends at 10 PM Pacific\Los Angeles time on November 16th.⠀
Honorable Mentions may be selected for story features on evepoetrygroup.⠀
Example poem source: WritersDigest .com
n i g h t m a r e s
When will this nightmare end?
I have been crying &
muffling my sniffles
into the pillow, for so long
and yet I don't feel numb.
There is still a lot left.
More to cry, scream &
struggle through the night with
I slit my wrists and bled,
until I am all cold and pale.
But still I am not dead,
standing with bleeding wrists.
I strangled myself with the ropes,
But it won't work.
I tried everything,
Every way to fight against,
This struggle to end this
but it just won't stop.
It just plays on and on and on.
3 deathtraps, 3 attempts, and
3 successful suicides.
But still I am not dead.
Instead I'm standing here with
The noose in my neck,
Wrists slitted and all blood
I ran and ran and ran
In the path of which I know
Surroundings all black,
Except for people.
No just the silhouettes,
TRIGGER WARNING // You pushed me against the wall, your hands too tight around my neck.
Your hands taking parts of me that weren’t meant for you.
My body became a beacon of shame.
It could never be small enough.
Each rib I could see, became a reminder of the bruises that once covered the skin that housed them.
I became something of a ray of light.
A protective halo rose over me.
My eyes bright and blue, my skin iridescent against a darkened sky.
Purity could save me.
The hidden essence of my sexuality pushed into the same corner you backed me into.
There is an ember blooming within the depth of my being.
My body remembering what it is to sway and moan, to feel the cravings it always desired.
My breasts no longer bound, my obsession with the perception of virtue wilting, leaving, healing.
I was not born into this world to be placed on a pedestal.
Made into a porcelain doll you can carve yourself into.
I am a living, breathing being meant to occupy space, my body filled with longing desire, an insatiable appetite for more.
I no longer answer to those who marred my body.
I no longer succumb to shame.
I am whole. I am wanting. I am flesh and blood, so much more than withering bone.
A collision of fire and ice.
The feminine reborn.
One of the hardest pieces I have ever written. Sexual assault... every being handles it differently. I have been in a spiral of chasing purity my entire life. Choosing to only sleep with one person, refusing to see myself as a sexual being even if I crave the collision with another just as much as others. This post is pure vulnerability, but after speaking to a group of young girls about sexual assault... an important one. When I was hurt, I turned my sexuality into a sin. I starved myself. I hated my breasts, my hips, my waist. I blamed them, for something they didn’t do. One in three women will be raped or sexually assaulted at some point in their life. 51.1% percent of female rape and sexual assault victims are attacked by an intimate partner. What we face everyday is not something small or insignificant. I am learning to love my body, from watching other women reclaim theirs.✨