Final chance to submit – “We Will Not Be Silenced” Anthology

Midnight, Monday 15th October is the deadline for submitting art/writing/poetry, this is an important, very timely project at a critical stage in history, your voices need to be heard! Previously published work you hold the copyright permissions on, are acceptable.

Please add your voice.

The story: Bruised But Not Broken, Whisper and the Roar, Indie Blu(e), and Blood Into Ink are joining forces to publish an anthology about the lived experience of sexual harassment and assault. We believe that it is more important than ever before that more voices speak out and reclaim their strength by owning their survival stories. All contributors, female and male, can submit up to three pieces of creative work- these can include; Poetry, Prose, Essay, Short Fiction, Prose, or original Artwork, but should be limited in length (under 1,000 words) considering that this is an anthology. You will be notified if your work is accepted. Please do not consider nonacceptance as any diminishment of your experience, but as with any publishing venture, we must try to fit the individual pieces together into a strong whole.

  • Submission of previously published pieces is acceptable if you still own the rights to your work.
  • Artwork can be submitted in black and white OR color but all artwork should be black and white compatible.
  • Using a pen name or publishing anonymously is acceptable.
  • All submissions should be sent to bloodintoink2017@gmail.com by midnight, Monday, October 15, 2018.

Writers and artists will retain the publishing rights to their individual submitted pieces. Indie Blu(e) will retain the rights to the collection We Will Not Be Silenced.

Pieces accepted for the Anthology may be used in whole or in part to promote the Anthology. All writers and artists will be appropriately credited in all promotional materials.

Should the royalties from sales of the Anthology exceed the costs of publishing and promoting the Collection, 70% of the royalties above these costs will be donated to organizations that support survivors of sexual harassment and sexual assault.

 

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Last call to Submit Writing and/or Art for “We Will Not Be Silenced” Anthology

Midnight, Monday 15th October is the deadline for submitting art/writing/poetry, this is an important, very timely project at a critical stage in history, your voices need to be heard!

Bruised But Not Broken, Whisper and the Roar, Indie Blu(e), and Blood Into Ink are joining forces to publish an anthology about the lived experience of sexual harassment and assault. We believe that it is more important than ever before that more voices speak out and reclaim their strength by owning their survival stories. All contributors, female and male, can submit up to three pieces of creative work- these can include; Poetry, Prose, Essay, Short Fiction, Prose, or original Artwork, but should be limited in length (under 1,000 words) considering that this is an anthology. You will be notified if your work is accepted. Please do not consider nonacceptance as any diminishment of your experience, but as with any publishing venture, we must try to fit the individual pieces together into a strong whole.

  • Submission of previously published pieces is acceptable if you still own the rights to your work.
  • Artwork can be submitted in black and white OR color but all artwork should be black and white compatible.
  • Using a pen name or publishing anonymously is acceptable.
  • All submissions should be sent to bloodintoink2017@gmail.com by midnight, Monday, October 15, 2018.

Writers and artists will retain the publishing rights to their individual submitted pieces. Indie Blu(e) will retain the rights to the collection We Will Not Be Silenced.

Pieces accepted for the Anthology may be used in whole or in part to promote the Anthology. All writers and artists will be appropriately credited in all promotional materials.

Should the royalties from sales of the Anthology exceed the costs of publishing and promoting the Collection, 70% of the royalties above these costs will be donated to organizations that support survivors of sexual harassment and sexual assault.

 

Erasure

The terror & beauty

145675384-640x640When you’re a writer people tend to think

you’re writing about them

that’s if they are arrogant or believe you must feel that way 

so often I am not writing about the person who believes I am

so often I want to write that as a preface before the poem

this is not about you / that ship sailed / that ship never was

securely moored or even existed

sometimes

or should I say, just once

it was about you

I did want you to know

just as I couldn’t bring myself to say it face to face

or sound the words out loud for fear

what is spoken is then real

I didn’t think of myself as a coward, where emotions were concerned

yet found myself floundering and blushing in your presence

like a school child again

perhaps it is because from the outset, you were impossible

as if I had stuffed all my wishes into a jar and set it to sea

and you had returned in the jar, stepping out and holding out your hand

I didn’t know if you liked women, if you liked me and my kind

there’s a die-hard rule among girls who like girls

don’t date bi-curious, don’t let yourself get broken

don’t show your cards until it’s patently obvious

but you’re not an obvious kind of person and you weren’t going

to show me anything until I took the plunge

you said i’d get bored but it’s the other way around

you stay like migrating butterflies, only a short time

before going on with your pilgrimage

and those who want more of you

watch the skies with only memories

I admit I am a simple woman emotionally, who has

a heart easily penetrated by the feeling of loss

but it is time for us both to change

you to trust, me to let go and not need

forever as a promise

it was your mystery from the outset

the little shape of you and your deep voice

wound me up into knots,  got me crazy

a tiny dancer on the fringe of my consciousness

I held back because it terrified me

those kinds of feelings don’t come around often

I keep myself in check and don’t pursue

I wait for them to come to me, it’s safer

but you wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style, I found myself

walking in your direction, wobbly on my feet

from the taste of nerves

for girls like you don’t exist

they are carved out of yearning

I made you with my thoughts

for if I could have said everything I searched for

and put it into a woman

she would have been you

except surely I was imagining it

when I saw you look at me in a way

usually meant for other times

surely what I felt, was not reciprocated

for emotions aren’t psychic are they?

could you hear what I felt, as clearly as if I had

spoken it aloud? Could you tell by the burning

in my eyes, the wetness of my mouth?

As I lay in bed at night I would try to unpick

the moves we made around each other

trying to guage what was real and imaginary

how could I reveal my heart if there was a chance

you’d repulse me and i’d be wrong?

i’ve never been the kind of woman to put myself out there

take those kinds of chances

it’s not a lack of courage

I’m simply not going to walk into rejection

if you know its taste you don’t go searching

but as with all emotions, they either die from neglect

or swell in intensity

I could not sleep, I lost my appetite

searching for you in the folds of day

until it was impossible not to say

even if you turned and laughed

patted me on the cheek and said

I feel sorry for you

but we who have lived in this world a while

can hear beneath the arch and curl

if we really listen

those hidden things people do not tell

and I thought I saw

in the corners of your motion

something stir

so if you read this; yes it is about you

and if you wonder; yes I do

and if you call for me; I will come

to the summit where people who are strangers and known

stand and expose themselves to

the terror and beauty of

their desire

Waiting for you to read my mind

36483015_1_x

There is

An abacus

Counting sense and nonsense

On the high cheeks of a woman

Whose done saying what she’s told

The photographer

Catches her unease

In the shape of her mouth

It would taste of raspberry, that’s obvious

At night, the crystal of your half filled glass shines

Ice melting slow like peeling clothes

Staring at naked ghosts with their hands up

Sexing on dirty carpets with clean minds

Watching flashbacks of regrets and pleasure

Idling trucks melting snow with their hung over breath

If you were a pill I’d O.D. on your potency

Skipping heartbeat, chasing down roads, your diminishing form

You left one day intact and never returned

Sending a doppelgänger

A confidence artist, in your stead

Who told me; I like your eyes they’re untamed

With a paper tongue and windscreen brow

Wiping away the rain, that endlessly fell

We must get used to death

In each pause, in the rhythm

I touched your skin

And thought of new England apples

The first taste

Belief comes last

Use your imagination

Can you see me?

I’m standing waist deep

Waiting for you to read my mind

Like you did once with the alacrity of an gymnast

In the throes of passion

Braile

Morse code

Signs and wonders

Photos over exposed

Ringing phones in the night

Knowing the destination in your fingers and finding

Without map or lights switched on

Blacking out cries

To be found

Oh god

To be found again

By you

Reach out

the-hunger-1983-0-58-35-323If I had the courage to tell you

I’d tell you I’m foolish

as they say in Texas; this isn’t my first rodeo

I know better

here I am though, thinking of you

remembering the way you move when

you pause to sit down

sleek and translucent like silk

the fall of your chin, and rise of your clavicle

how the harpsichord of your mouth bows and sends

me crossing my legs in want

how I know you diminish yourself

cannot see, what I

quiet and observant

in my courageless pretense of being

just friends

notice in the gentle sway of you

sometimes I wish the world woke up

and girls loved girls everywhere

though it would be like chocolate

lovely at first and then too much

there is something sacred in smaller numbers

we are rare night birds who fly singing

when everyone else is asleep

sometimes we recognize each other just by

a glance

like a language only we damson girls speak

those who love others in whispers

for the most part it is a lonely walk

being the cuckoo in the nest

watching girls you thought glorious, invariably fall in love with boys

their hearts broken when you

could have given them the spin of a dream

it is not the weft of this world to permit

girls who love girls become the norm

we will always be the nightingale and the black swan

I will feel the need to apologize

if I look at you too long

for it is a respectful dance we learn

to stay our distance and not become

a pastiche or cliche; the girl who loved girls led astray

by someone incapable of returning her ardor

though if you could just break the rules

sometimes I suspect, in the way you gaze back

all redolent and tied tightly with secrets

we’d have a grand ole time

there are worlds you haven’t even imagined

places you cannot give names to

once you swim to that fair isle, few return willingly

I don’t boast but what’s wrong with admitting

love between girls has a special season

deep and sonorous, we think such things do not exist

only because our imagination is not so

vivid

if you gave me one word or even

on a certain day, when feeling bold I may

require just a particular arching smile

as you let go and said; Yes I do

I’d not hesitate to make you mine

all your closeted longing

the belief you hold, that love has a sell by date

and you are not worthy

I would remove each of those

aches like the layers of an artichoke

delving into what makes you tremble

and find there, the pain and the longing

owning no words just primal need

like a river coming to flood the delta

I’d pour myself into your loneliness

the many nights you dreamed, of being reached so deep

gave up thinking that will never be me, I could not be loved that much

in the reflection of my longing, you would see

the worth of you and how all those fears

were just surfaces as yet untouched

for we who dance

together

never

stop

and I will not let go

if you just

reach

out