Hewo everyone!!!
This is the eighth poetry comp, and I just wanted to say tysm to everyone that has been participating and to everyone that votes on these polls!
This week’s poetry prompt was Ink-Filled Veins, and pls remember to read all poems before making ur final vote!
Also, cg to last week’s winner, @AveryKGrambs !
Here is their poem if you would like to read it!
When Will The World Learn to Cry?
I’ve always heard that the world bleeds
But never that it cries
What about all those hours
We cried ourselves to sleep
What about those times
We looked at the mirror
Saw the tears mark our face
And scrubbed them away
What if we heard
At once
The noise of all the doors shut
Just for the sake of shedding a single tear
Would we notice?
If all the tears shed in silence
Became raindrops
That flooded the world
Would we notice?
Would we notice
Their pain
The pain of our friends
Our family
That hide
Because of us
Because we say tears are a weakness
Because we can’t admit
That we cry in silence
So when will the world stop to bleed
Stop to be ashamed of tears
And start to realize
That it’s the silence
That breaks us
And here are the poems of this week!
Tysm everyone and happy writing! -Yani, Alora (my pen name)
#1
To have a use
Is a hard thing to ask.
Personally
I ask everyday.
I want a use.
I want to be useful.
Not what I am,
With my ink-filled veins.
Every time I try to feel clean,
I just feel ink gloshing around.
I try to be helpful,
And try to not make a mess.
But every time I react,
I just explode.
Since the ink in my veins,
Doesn’t mix well with happiness.
You know,
Sometimes I can taste it.
It’s bitter.
Like it’s trying to make me act.
But why?
Do I have to be bitter?
Can’t I be sweet?
Like candy or cake?
Or will I just be an object.
As the ink in my veins is.
As I could ever be.
Like a ballpoint pen.
The ink always in perfect condition,
But the pen damaged and broken.
So lessons learned,
And objects break.
But how will you react,
When like a ballpoint pen,
Your veins fill with ink,
That all you see is a broken world,
And not the pain you felt,
In a happy world you can’t experience.
#2
My blood was never only red.
There’s darker ink inside instead.
A single thought can bloom inside my brain,
Then fall in lines like quiet silver rain.
A character might whisper in my head,
Asking for the life I never said.
Their voices wind like rivers through my veins.
Whole worlds appear in corners of my mind,
With hidden roads and secrets left behind.
The pen becomes the door they travel through,
The page the sky where all their stories grew.
Each sentence beats like thunder on the page,
Each story something I cannot cage,
Each word a spark that sets a world ablaze.
Because to me a blank page isn’t bare,
It’s filled with lives just waiting to be there.
So when I write until the night is late,
It isn’t just a hobby or a trait.
It’s something deeper pulsing in my brain,
A restless tide I never can contain-
My heart was made for ink-filled veins.
#3
I learned early
That blood can look like ink
When dried on a memory
I was small then, younger, kinder
Delicate hands reaching for the paper
I remember you laughing, scooping me onto your lap
Your features just out of reach
As I write words on paper
Each stroke reminds me of you
Every letter, every line
I will never let myself forget
Somewhere between the margins of the page
I can hear your laugh, your chuckle
As my pen swiftly glides throughout the page
I can feel within my heart
At last, the clock has struck midnight
Twelve gongs echoing through soul
I carefully fold the paper, tuck in my pocket
In case I forget what you mean to me
I will remember
I won’t forget
You will always live on inside me
Within my ink-filled veins
#4
Ink
I feel it rushing through me
Suffocating me
The ink running in my veins
I always tried
To put it to paper
Only to fail
Because I can’t stand
The undotted “i”
That one stray line
Because I can’t stand
Being imperfect
Because I can’t stand
Being seen
Because I can’t stand
Ink
So I shove it away
Shut it out
Burn it
Hide it
And it breaks me
Until I can’t go back
Not at the cost
Of becoming spilled ink
#5
The ink in my veins, is all that remains in this prison called a body
It’s all simply too much, school, parents, grades, chores, extracurriculars… it was just too much to bear…
It was just a scratch, then another and another and another, each one dripping black
Stop. This is wrong… I couldn’t, just couldn’t
But it’s too much for you…Oh, how silly it was to argue with my own brain,
I used this black ink dripping from myself to write…
Dear Mom,
Dear Dad,
Dear Sister,
Dear Best Friend,
No, don’t do it…If you have letters to write than you have reasons to live,
Tears began cascading down, reminding me I still have emotion, and pains, and it’s gotta count for something
Ping
A message from my best friend, “I can’t wait to see you tomorrow! I have so many plans for our sleepover this weekend!”
A shaky breath escapes from me, instead of shutting it out, and suppressing the ink inside me
My fingers start to move
Tip Tap Tip Tap
“Cool, I’ll see you then!”
The ink in my veins would no longer spill from myself, depleting the life out of me…
Instead, it kept me going, giving me life instead of taking it
Because I had so many reasons to live
#6
Something moves beneath my skin at night,
A slow whispering stain.
Not warmth, not blood, not living red,
But ink circling through my veins.
It crawls along my hollow pulse,
And hums a nameless tune.
A quiet scratching in the dark,
That wakes me far too soon.
Only the mirror knows my hollow truth,
Like it can feel the change.
It knows the thing behind my skin,
Is something cold and strange.
Some nights I swear the ink can think,
It twists and coils and stains.
Like restless words that lost their page,
And live inside my veins.
If they ever tried to drain,
The darkness from my veins,
The world would drown in everything
My silence ever contained.
So let the silence hold its sway,
Let shadows stake their claims.
Some hearts don’t beat with living blood,
They pulse with ink-filled veins.
#7
Ink
It’s in a pen, it’s in me.
A pen is used to write
Write and keep writing
A break not in sight.
But people use me
Like a pen,
One filled
With ink.
Ink
The worst memories
Stay and never leave
Like ink does.
No matter what I do
Nothing in me
Is erasable~
Just ink.
Ink
I have ink-filled veins
There is nothing
I can do about it.
Let the ink flow
Tell stories
Make memories.
And then nothing
Is more precious
Than ink.
- #1
- #2
- #3
- #4
- #5
- #6
- #7
