Blood Into Ink Writing Contest

Check out this worthy and exciting writing contest. I am excited to see the submission we will receive.

Blood Into Ink


Blood Into Ink, a safe space for survivors of trauma/abuse, has been deeply moved by the national embrace of the #MeToo  Campaign.  #MeToo has provided a way for women and men to tell their truths about their experiences with sexual assault and/or harassment in a way that feels  comfortable to them. We believe that breaking the silence and telling  these stories matters. To honor this campaign, Blood Into Ink is holding  a #MeToo Writing Contest to recruit new writers for the Collective.

We welcome submissions about all forms of trauma: child abuse, domestic violence, sexual assault, natural disaster, addiction, mental health, etc.– whatever you have survived that has shaped you.

Prompt: #MeToo

Formats accepted: Poem, prose, fiction, essay, spoken word or video*

More than 50 words; Less than 750



1st place Membership as a Curator in the Blood Into Collective.  The winning entry will be published on Blood…

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Fall Flings – Aurora Phoenix

My most recent piece on Sudden Denouement. I am honored to have it posted among the work of such fabulous writers. Please be sure to check out all the other works!

Sudden Denouement Collective

th (4)Fall Flings – Aurora Phoenix

fickle lover
you tease an aging summer
fill her weary lungs
with the heated breath
of your lost abandon
toss your fiery colors
crinkled casts
of your passionate embrace
at the feet of her sun-soaked journey –
gold threaded vermillion carpets
cushion the heartache
of her grand exit.
your fingerling breezes
caress her flushed brow
dapple sour apple kisses
upon bronzed shoulders
stencil erotic promises
beneath the sinews
of her marching thighs.

tantric temptress
you entice a nubile winter
fill his cavernous pockets
with polished talismans
of your smoke- breathed vitality
denude yourself of finery
an offbeat up-tempo
strip tease
shivering limbs outstretched
quivering in anticipation
of a lovers’ blanketing.
your razor nailed gusts
race in vixen bursts
grazing his arched spine
entice his withered furor
with amber beams
of half hooded coquetry
lingering languid
upon the clouded steel
of his stealthy advance.

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Curtain Call

gong sounded a summons




marching orders


exorcism of the ghosts

squashed by the machine

deus ex machina.

are they syncopated sycophants?

statutory statuary

dotting the grassy knoll

they stand ramrod straight

striated fire hydrants

expelling geysers against those

who talk out of school.

no desk standing here –

synchronized solidarity

in beleaguered entreaty

carpe diem! – seize that day

while it still exists.

pigeon hole stool pigeons

deny the reality of that rat

gnawing Achilles while you kick

helpless flailing

scrambling rodents underfoot.

greying of the line between

sanity and madness

encroaches – winter dusk.

they sing a song of sixpence

fill pockets as we die

in techno – technicolor

synthesized and sidelined

screeching vox nihili

Inside Out, Outside In

it is a tale

old as these hills

that cultivate hiding

truths under crabgrass

sage green and scruffy tough.

the felon returns

crashing the prison gates

as the black sheep-ed cousin

does the country club wedding.

plot twist – I walk

unshackled. tour the “farm”

a civic minded professional

treading gingerly

getting the inside scoop

data collecting for service

endeavors.  grouped,

I stride alone

retreading unhallowed grounds.

they are on display

  • these inmates –

hymnfully singing

soulful chorus on cue.

colleagues, caught

in the briny swells

of backwashed empathy

miss the clues. I hear

cacophonous undertones

cantankerous and cringing

obstinate or obsequious


our unannounced intrusion

that we – free –

would never comprehend.

culinary students prepared

gourmet repast

while essence of grey

bologna lingers moldy

on their tongues – pierced

with perpetual biting.

I masticate

sundried tomato panini

with sliced subservience and fresh

ground dignity.

in each swallowed correction

unobjected objectification

are the gallstones


pilloried pillars

architecture of my riot

On Any Given Sidewalk

we walk in sync

identic hips and matching strides

gamely we pound

city streets

fitness and Fitbit driven

we tramp not here

for your errant eyes

sliming down

our hips and thighs.

in this city

that is ours

as much as yours

we stride here

on a mission

that has naught

to do with you.


we lose track

as we walk and talk

of uncouth observations

we cannot count

suggestive comments

unsought invitations

yes, workout pants

hug our curves

bodacious and deliberate

displayed not

for your lewd



we have trained

each in our own


for gauntlet streets

darling daughter


aggressive Argentine catcalls

I weathered

prison hallway

jump-suited eye-fucking.


we are conditioned

to turn deaf ear

hood blind eyes

under the barrage

of pervasive

verbal and visual



ask any woman

girl or crone

to recount

the herstory

of harassment.

she will fade of breath

before the first chapter

is recorded,

discomfited that any

might assume a postscript


#metoo rendered

in sepia ink



these are our streets

Of Roots and Limbs

the tree of she

was flattened

beneath winds unbecoming

that would not stop

kept coming.

the tree of she

was stripped

of verdancy

foliage strewn and scattered

the litter of a life

afore untampered tempest.

the tree of she

denuded of vibrancy

leached of hue and cry

under cyclonic deluge.


recalcitrant roots

of the tree of she


tenacious tendrils


through arid residuum


withered branches


in quest of

an uncertain sun

Thrust and Parry

you thrust your ego

onto the table

a gorgonizing centerpiece

caustic hyperbolic sales pitch

embroiders length and breadth


to reality.

phenomenal fiction


in the monstrous meanderings

of your own vainglorious


you subjugate

under convoluted guise

demonic clown disguises

ram your sordid peonage

down the throats

of would be dissenters.

I see your rant

weaponized interjection

coronary inducing cocking

of your pistol

under menacing thumb.

I raise you unruffled feathers

as I block your swordplay

smooth my skirts

decisive yet demure

gather centuries of sisterhood

steadfast survival

set sail for smoother waters

leave you

foaming and frenzied

to your own


Morpheme Mutiny

mangled metaphors

left me


with doubt as they forsook

picket fences

for split rails

they stumbled far afield

where they wander, limping

out from under my skirts

around the outskirts

of my forlorn village

striking poses

of vaunted dignity.

they leapt with alacrity

unbefitting of their ancient

weary souls

firing afterburners

as they shot the moon.

they worked diligently

those valiant metonymies

labored and strained

as they strove to build a future

that could not be contained

in a house of brick and mortar

big bad wolf notwithstanding.

they stumbled on debris

littered from existence

discovered the prophesied prosperity

 a preposterous prevarication.

now they dodder

as drunks or toddlers

on those picket lines

signs of the times

dragging bedraggled signs

indisputably protesting

catachrestically catatonic

marching to the beat

of a tone deaf drummer

of adumbration bereft

You Were Meant to Know the Night Writing Prompt Challenge: Knowing Borne in the Night/Aurora Phoenix

My submission to braveandreckless’ latest writing prompt. Thank you Christine for the thought provoking prompt!

Brave & Reckless

there are those

who know only sunlight

it reflects from the silver spoons

from which they slurp their coddled cream

they are insulated from all pain

by their silk lined ermine wrappings

residual misery absorbed by underlings

assiduous under rug sweepers

leaving them bereft

of moral compass

merest crumbs of compassion.

they are blind,

these sun-dwellers,

having gazed for hours interminable

in fawning rhapsody

upon their own bedazzled


vision blurred

by lack of focus

glancing solely upon pageantry

rhinestone Rodeo rodeos.

my friends, these are not

our vistas. we have careened

brakeless down curvaceous

Sunset Boulevard

– or strutted braless –

quaffing the air’s despair

in great desperate gulps

while our demons

take the wheel.

we have licked the salts of mercury

briny from tormented eyes

with our tongues of fire

tasting essence of fear

and redemption only the night

can portend.  we have crawled

stripped and wounded


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Maggot Memoirs

(A response poem to the collaborative piece ‘Shoo, Fly‘ by the amazing Kindra M. Austin and Samantha Lucero, on Sudden Denouement. Be sure to read this stunning piece.)


I recall the apparition.

they squirmed a nauseating mess,

a poltergeist steak on the garage floor.

I puzzle on the number

of maggots that have crawled upon me.


I knew they were flies – in bars and in dorms rooms.

I swatted at the buzz of their egos

in Greek chorus. I was that girl

with the grades and the holey swatter.

I was that girl, brilliant and slightly awkward,

attracting flies as brilliantine

greases fashionista disasters.

I was that girl with fierce four-eyed intent

and dismal coordination, that girl

who looked in the mirror

with inverted beer goggles.

when flies buzzed habitual lies

of beauty and breaktakability

I was entangled in gossamer webs

spun of red perfumed roses,

trips to Paris and hot air

balloon rides. my flyswatter

matted in the webbing.


flies or not, I learned.

I learned control was a pulled down

zipper and me wriggling my way

down the bed and control

was how I wrought their finish

while I still wore my clothes

if not my dignity. I 80’s teased

my hair, not their cocks.


I have no doubt those flies

nestled in Aqua Net nests

leaving me their seed.

I am left maggoty

lo these many years

in the stale beer and hazy afters.

I can feel them crawling on me-

the maggots of those lost girl nights.


some nights I am swarmed

by the maggots that silent whisper

buzzing lies anew, across

generations of girls

Tie your hair up girls

and earn some respect.


I scoop the maggots from my ears

ferret them out

from dark warm mind corners.

I see now the rest of that vision

the hose pulverizing

the quivering worm morass.

it is a fire hose, now,

instrument of salvation, not a grandiose

phallic substitute –

as if, boys! –

and I loose it on the maggot