Round One Your entries for the first round must be posted by . The results, as well as the next round's pairings, will be announced on April 12th. Eight of you will advance immediately to the next round, and for everyone else there is a redemption round if you'd like to continue in the competition!
Please submit one poem in this thread, as plain text or an image. You can spoiler it if you like, but you don't have to. At any point before the deadline, you can edit and/or switch your entry, but please make sure to indicate that it's been changed at the top of your post with something like "EDITED".
If you have any questions, ask them below! Good luck and happy poeting!
When you're faced with something you don't understand, I think the most natural thing but also least interesting thing you can be is afraid.
Alright! Let's go. Is spoken word poetry able to be submitted?
She/They/Fae
“the wist i knew would never allow a straight boy in their stories” ~Omni “Hi Omni can I request wist get the role mom friend :]" ~winter “ah yes, fear Wist's smile :) <- speaks of layers and layers of secrets” ~mint
“the wist i knew would never allow a straight boy in their stories” ~Omni “Hi Omni can I request wist get the role mom friend :]" ~winter “ah yes, fear Wist's smile :) <- speaks of layers and layers of secrets” ~mint
I am surrounded by people, I swear. The crowd is the hurricane, and I am in the eye. Whispers drown out my thoughts, everyone's breath creating a windstorm. Body heat cooks the deep layer of ice encasing my heart, but it's not enough.
Eyes dart and flit, but they pass through me like I'm a reflection.
Are they too busy to notice me? Or am I an invisible force in their world? Am I an intrusion?
Am I even here?
Promise me I still exist, please. Would it be too hard? You can see me, can't you? Wandering up and down the walkway of a shopping mall. Waving my arms. Screaming.
My throat has gone hoarse from screaming.
What will it take to make your gaze land on me? For you to open your eyes and your pupils to dilate with familiarity? I am here, right? I am here and stealing space.
Promise me I still exist. I'm begging you. I don't care if you're ignoring me. I don't care if you're too disgusted to speak to me. Shove me if you have to. Punch me. Kick me. Drag a knife across my throat and laugh as I bleed out. Anything to know the heartbeat in my ears isn't a hallucination.
Am I dead? Has someone already crushed the fragile globe of life in my lungs? Yes, I would be surprised, but death is better than simply slipping through the cracks in reality. Am I in the backrooms? Or is this my own personal form of Hell? I am asking too many questions. I don't want all of the answers; I just need you to swear one thing. Please, just one little thing.
Promise me I still exist. I'll pay you back, I swear it! Whatever you want, whatever you wish, I'm good for it. I won't say another word. I'll gouge out my eyes and never see another thing.
Because I have spent years wandering in circles, I am sobbing in Times Square. I am grovelling to the Queen of England. I am making a mess of things, babbling and in hysterics. No one notices. No one has arrested me for disturbing the peace. Am I so insignificant that no one pays any mind?
Promise me I still exist before I lose my grip on myself. Is this how ghosts are made? They're not dead, just abandoned by memory. How long until I forget myself? Is this my terminal diagnosis: a slow decay of my reality?
Please tell me this is a cruel trick. I won't even be upset.
Please tell me you hate me. I won't even blame you.
Please tell me I'm here, that I am consuming, that I am a burden. That someone would react if I left, even if it's a simple thank you to God. Tell me to go. Tell me to die. Tell me that I'm worthless. Because even trash still exists. And I just need to be real.
Throw me in prison. Beat me until my bones splinter and imbed themselves in my organs. Kick me until I choke on my blood, and my flesh is a canvas of green, yellow, blue, and purple. As long as I'm here, as long as someone makes me feel something, anything, I'm safe.
Publically execute me, for all I care, just promise me I still exist. Then you can put the noose around my neck, arm the guillotine above me. I won't blink when the axe falls, won't cry out when the ground falls out beneath me. In fact, my last words will be gratitude. Gratitude for proving that I am real, something mortal, something fragile.
Something that exists.
Please, please promise me I still exist. In any way you can. Any way you want to.
If you can. If you hear me.
Can anyone hear me, or I am just spewing into the soulless void?
Or can everyone hear, but no one cares enough?
Does it matter if I exist if no one recognises it?
Even still, promise me I still exist. It will have to be enough for now.
I'm begging you. Anyone. Just once.
Please.
She/They/Fae
“the wist i knew would never allow a straight boy in their stories” ~Omni “Hi Omni can I request wist get the role mom friend :]" ~winter “ah yes, fear Wist's smile :) <- speaks of layers and layers of secrets” ~mint
@shayspeare the entry deadline has technically already passed, but I can fit you into one of the existing brackets. The deadline for your first poem entry is April 10!
When you're faced with something you don't understand, I think the most natural thing but also least interesting thing you can be is afraid.
Around, all around, the angels gather. My dread grows as the dagger of your words fall against my naked soul. It wounds me, and darkly my essence drips to the wicked earth that is my prison. in agony, I call your name while Death's shadow approaches Now alone, my cascade of tears fall upon blind eyes.
I promise this type of pain only gets worse ~Esmeraya~ she/they
I was weeping as much for him as her; we do sometimes pity creatures that have none of the feeling either for themselves or others. — Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
Gender:
Points: 35799
Reviews: 1274