Call For Submissions: This is What Love Looks Like. Poetry By Women Smitten with Women

Indie Blu(e) Publishing is currently accepting submissions of poetry and art for This is What Love Looks Like. Poetry by Women Smitten with Women. This Anthology will celebrate love, attachments, and attraction between women.

  • The maximum number of pieces for submission per writer/artist is FIVE (5).
  • Writing can be uploaded as a Word or PDF attachment. If you are submitting a graphic poetry meme, the meme must be accompanied by the text in Word or PDF version.
  • Artwork submitted for the Anthology must be able to be reproduced clearly in black and white.
  • You will be notified if your work is accepted. Please do not consider non- acceptance 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.
  • Submissions will be accepted through June 30, 2019 through Submittable. There is no charge for submission.

This is a project fueled by passion, not profit. Indie Blu(e) Publishing will only charge a few dollars above the publishing cost to keep the Anthology as affordable as possible.

All contributors will receive a PDF copy of the book.

Questions? Contact Candice at candicedaquin@gmail.com.

There Is Strength in Our Stories: I Will Rise – Layla Summers

I can still feel his hands on me
Grabbing too roughly
Holding too tightly
Leaving a lingering sting
Long after the slap on the face

I can still hear his begging
The pure disappointment
No -that’s too kind a word-
The disguised fury
When I said no to sex

I can still feel it
How he decided to fuck me anyway
How he kissed me
Making me gag on his tongue
How he’d bite my neck
How he’d do anything
Until I gave up

I can still feel it
His jaws clenched way too tight
On my breasts

I can still hear him
Sounding so pleased
So thrilled with himself

He was my first true
“Relationship”
And yet I was his prisoner
His plaything

I vividly remember the last time
I remember the rage in his eyes
Because I didn’t want to have sex
5 days before my birthday,
The anniversary of the first time I was raped
At twelve years old,
But he didn’t care
And he fucked me anyway
Because I’d “been doing fine”

What he doesn’t know
Is I am a Phoenix
And I will rise from the ashes
Of my broken self


I am a poet, author, and playwright. I have been writing for almost seven years as a way to cope with my traumas and bipolar disorder. Now I use my writing to show others they are not alone. My writing can be found on Wattpad under HealingTatteredWings. By overcoming the past, we can do more than survive. We can all thrive together. My heart goes out to all those who need someone there for them.

We, the broken – Jesica Nodarse

Im not sure I have the words to explain
Even my vast vocabulary fails me
I should be used to it
Ive been here many times before
We, the broken.. forget what its like to be whole 
So please bear with me
My compass has turned off
The sun rose from the West
And its rays emit an eeriely cold glow
Even the maps refuse to unfold
I’ll overcome
Time and again
Its all I’ve known
Somewhere along the line, the purpose will make itself known
Till then ..
I’ll be here
Nowhere at all

Jesica Nodarse
Artist unknown (Pinterest)

To have without holding- Marge Piercy

This love poem by Marge Piercy speaks to me as strongly now as it did when I first read it over 30 years ago.

Learning to love differently is hard,
love with the hands wide open, love
with the doors banging on their hinges,
the cupboard unlocked, the wind
roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
that thwack like rubber bands
in an open palm.
It hurts to love wide open
stretching the muscles that feel
as if they are made of wet plaster,
then of blunt knives, then
of sharp knives.
It hurts to thwart the reflexes
of grab, of clutch ; to love and let
go again and again. It pesters to remember
the lover who is not in the bed,
to hold back what is owed to the work
that gutters like a candle in a cave
without air, to love consciously,
conscientiously, concretely, constructively.
I can’t do it, you say it’s killing
me, but you thrive, you glow
on the street like a neon raspberry,
You float and sail, a helium balloon
bright bachelor’s button blue and bobbing
on the cold and hot winds of our breath,
as we make and unmake in passionate
diastole and systole the rhythm
of our unbound bonding, to have
and not to hold, to love
with minimized malice, hunger
and anger moment by moment balanced.
Marge Piercy, “To have without holding” from The Moon is Always Female. Copyright © 1980 by Marge Piercy.

For Strong Women- Marge Piercy

In honor of National Poetry Month

A strong woman is a woman who is straining
A strong woman is a woman standing
on tiptoe and lifting a barbell
while trying to sing “Boris Godunov.”
A strong woman is a woman at work
cleaning out the cesspool of the ages,
and while she shovels, she talks about
how she doesn’t mind crying, it opens
the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up
develops the stomach muscles, and
she goes on shoveling with tears in her nose.

A strong woman is a woman in whose head
a voice is repeating, I told you so,
ugly, bad girl, bitch, nag, shrill, witch,
ballbuster, nobody will ever love you back,
why aren’t you feminine, why aren’t
you soft, why aren’t you quiet, why aren’t you dead?

A strong woman is a woman determined
to do something others are determined
not be done. She is pushing up on the bottom
of a lead coffin lid. She is trying to raise
a manhole cover with her head, she is trying
to butt her way through a steel wall.
Her head hurts. People waiting for the hole
to be made say, hurry, you’re so strong.

A strong woman is a woman bleeding
inside. A strong woman is a woman making
herself strong every morning while her teeth
loosen and her back throbs. Every baby,
a tooth, midwives used to say, and now
every battle a scar. A strong woman
is a mass of scar tissue that aches
when it rains and wounds that bleed
when you bump them and memories that get up
in the night and pace in boots to and fro.

A strong woman is a woman who craves love
like oxygen or she turns blue choking.
A strong woman is a woman who loves
strongly and weeps strongly and is strongly
terrified and has strong needs. A strong woman is strong
in words, in action, in connection, in feeling;
she is not strong as a stone but as a wolf
suckling her young. Strength is not in her, but she
enacts it as the wind fills a sail.

What comforts her is others loving
her equally for the strength and for the weakness
from which it issues, lightning from a cloud.
Lightning stuns. In rain, the clouds disperse.
Only water of connection remains,
flowing through us. Strong is what we make
each other. Until we are all strong together,
a strong woman is a woman strongly afraid.

From The Moon is Always Female, 1985

Call for Submissions: There Is Strength In Our Stories

 

In honor of Sexual Abuse Awareness and Prevention Month, Blood Into Ink and We Will Not Be Silenced are putting out a call for submissions for your lived experience of sexual harassment and assault. We believe that there is strength in our collective voices. We believe our work is not done.  Writing and art accepted for There Is Strength In Our Stories will be published on Blood Into Ink’s website and through the BII social media accounts, as well as on the We Will Not Be Silenced Facebook page during the month of April 2019.

Writers and artists can submit up to three pieces of creative work (poetry, prose, essay, and/or original artwork.)  Pieces of writing should be limited in length (under 1,500 words.)   Using a pen name or publishing anonymously is acceptable.  You will be asked to provide a brief biography (75 words or less.)

Please do not consider nonacceptance as any diminishment of your experience.

Submission of previously published pieces is acceptable if you still own the rights to your work.

We will NOT be accepting pieces previously published in the Anthology We Will Not Be Silenced, but the original contributors are encouraged to submit other pieces of writing and/or art.

Artwork can be submitted in black and white OR color and should be 300 DPI.

Using a pen name or publishing anonymously is acceptable.

All submissions should be uploaded to our Submittable site by midnight, April 23, 2019

trust women – Melita White

trust women
for they know things
like how to listen
and how to draw you out
they help you feel normal
for committing the mistakes
a normal woman makes
they help you reveal
all the shame
you learnt to conceal
long ago

trust women
to tell you the hard truth
show you new perspectives
reveal back to you
your world
one that is
clearer, fairer and kinder
or harsher, meaner, more unjust —
whichever the case may be

trust women
to protect you
beyond their professional duties
they might slip in a phrase or two
that is more sage or friendly
than it ought to be
and if you listen carefully
you will hear it
and if you choose to
you can heed it

trust women
the covert coven of women
dispersed secret members
initiated unknowingly at birth
a network of wisdom
an underground railroad
of waiting women
ready to help you
if only you would let them

trust women
you just need to like yourself
and then you can ask
for the help that is there
like spores in the breeze
it is ever-present
waiting to attach to moisture
and multiply

Melita White is founder and writer of the blog Feminist Confessional, a space that features feminist poetry, essays and personal pieces in a confessional style, with a focus on the MeToo movement. She is a composer and musician and loves making all kinds of things. https://feministconfessional.wordpress.com