What Seasons
I sit on the front of the porch, blue skies scattered with white birds, they tweet and the insects chirp.
I am in a children's book filled with pastels and soft dreams, I am the colour of cotton candy lavender and honeyed yellows.
Warmth pools around me, I am melting into the chair of the front porch, my nose is stuffed full.
I wait.
The leaves that bloom from the branches are a shocking green, adorned with purples, blues, and oranges.
Heat presses down like an iron weight, my lungs suffocate and my brain oozes from my ears.
My cells evaporate, withering to mist as I sit on that front porch, today I am the colour of magenta,
watching, waiting for the next page.
The leaves from the branch turn a red and brown, they dance in the air and dramatically fall to the ground.
Grass turns to the colour of death, bugs make nests in the hollows of my ribs, sleeping and waiting for the next flip of the book.
I sit and sit and sit, waiting, watching my face turn to lines, my bones losing intensity, my heart slowing.
I am grey and rotting from the inside.
The leaves do not grow from the branches and I still.
Whiteness covers my surroundings, I am coloured blue and black, my skin tears apart.
I sit on that porch, watching, waiting, expecting.
Today I am old.
Today I regret.
水墨之歌 / Song of the Ink poetry
绘出春天的色彩
在残雪即将融化的时候
化作寒风中绽放的玉兰
柳丝轻柔
拂起那一头秀发
似一幅美丽的画卷
小草绿了
破土而出的一朵朵小花
在春风里一起灿烂
从此
大地不再单调
在萌动中孕育着生机盎然
水与墨交织
如心香一片
细雨如丝
诉说心中的思念
宛如归来的飞燕
对你轻轻呢喃
月夜如醉
星空点点
灵魂穿越时空
与苍穹对话
在云河流连
青春是生命的斑斓
这里是放飞的起点
水与墨交织
奏响新的乐章
留下一首首灵动的诗歌
汇入岁月的长河
撒下五彩的花瓣
Draw the colors of spring
When the remaining snow
is about to melt
It turns into a magnolia blooming in the cold wind
Willow branches are gentle
Blowing up the hair
Like a beautiful painting
The grass is green
The flowers that break through the ground
Bloom together
in the spring breeze
From then on
The earth is no longer monotonous
It is full of vitality in the budding
Ink interweave
Like a piece of heart fragrance
The drizzle is like silk
Telling the longing in the heart
Like a returning swallow
Whispering to you softly
The moonlit night is like a drunkenness
The starry sky is dotted
The soul travels
through time and space
Talks with the sky
Flowing in the clouds and rivers
Youth is the splendor of life
This is the starting point of flying
Ink interweave
Play a new movement
Leave behind a piece of lively poetry
Merge into the long river of time
Sprinkle colorful petals
We are thrilled to invite you to the Ink Poetry Award Ceremony, where we will celebrate the creativity and talent of all our participants. We have been truly inspired by the exceptional work submitted for this year's competition, and we would love to honor you for your dedication and effort.
Event Details:
Date: May 28th, 2025
Time: 7:00 - 8:30pm
Location: 400 Cooper St #2000, Ottawa, ON, K2P2H8
The ceremony will feature an exciting lineup of readings, awards, and performances, as well as an opportunity to connect with fellow poets, literary enthusiasts, and supporters of the arts. It will be an evening to celebrate your achievements and the power of poetry in all its forms.
Winners will be announced before this coming Monday, and we will make sure to share the exciting news with you as soon as possible.
Please RSVP to confirm your attendance. If you have any dietary restrictions or specific needs, feel free to include them in your response, and we will do our best to accommodate them.
We look forward to celebrating this memorable occasion with you and hope you can join us for a night of inspiration and creativity.
Warm regards,
The Ink Poetry Award Team
Taseen Masud – Throb of suffocation
2nd Place
Suya Peng – Burn
Lingxi Liu – 观书 / Calligraphy
3rd Place
Jenny Cai – The River To Which I Was Never Acquainted
Kaitlyn Tan – Ruinous beauty…
Alexis Leibenzedre – Something To Prove
Honourable Mentions
Zhengsheng Wang – 水墨之歌 / Song of the Ink poetry
Xiu Pan – 执着于春天的人
Jennifer Clark – Stolen
Daniella Ogbole – MY ART
Zhiping Duan – 忆秋
Allen Zhang – Quietly Please
Throb of suffocation
Lately I have been drowning, choking on oxygen and strangled by space.
My organs eat themselves to holes and my bones feel like dust.
I weep like a little child, hoarded in my own heart and rotting away in the greyness of my bed.
Safety is the square of this room, bleakness is the heat of comfort.
Watching through my wet lashes, the door creaks ajar.
I am blasted with horrid pastels, screechy lullaby’s, and smiles that make faces look broken. Horror,
that’s the word.
A shiver travels down my spine, I close the door with my back to it and hold my knees to my chest.
My frail heart races, black blood thrums through my veins, this feels like decaying, this feels like the wisp of death.
I feel hatred.
My grey fingertips brushes the doorframe, I can see liveliness seep through the cracks. It colours my fingers pink, it spreads mellowness into my hand.
I long desperately, I desire violently, I’m scared but I want so badly.
My hand creeps to the door handle, I involuntarily twist it open.
Again, the sweetness gags me, the light shines directly into my eyes.
I cringe and fear, take a step, I'm scared, help me.
Drifting along, the honeyed air suffocates, I am sinking down, down, down
The pleasures of this life consume me, I am high on its sugar
Drowsily looking back to that dark room, I almost giggle.
What is the difference?
Stuffed full of colours with baby pinks and blues bursting from my eyelids,
This is sickening, this is the sweetest poison.
I dance with ecstasy, aware of the gaping hole beneath,
Darkness claws and creeps and consumes.
Intoxicated in the illusions of candied bliss and charming delight,
The breath of reality feels like dread and greyness.
I am heaving on the ground of my grey room, a seizure rocks through these twig bones,
It echoes through my hollow ribs, ricocheting through my head.
A shadow simmers over me, a ghost that echoes back my despairs.
I breath and calm, pull my knees to my chest against that door again.
I sit with my emptiness, silence falls over me and this weariness.
Each heartbeat spikes through my veins, it disturbingly aches.
Feelings flood my room, I can smell my own horror.
A boredom falls,
The door starts to creak ajar.
This is a stunning, visceral, and haunting piece—poetic in its language, existential in its themes, and unflinching in its emotional honesty. It reads like a fever dream trapped between depression and overstimulation, numbness and desire, greyness and garish light.
Theme: Depression vs. the Illusion of Joy
The poem draws a stark contrast between two emotional landscapes:
- The grey room: a metaphor for depression, stasis, isolation, numbness.
- The pastel world beyond the door: overly sweet, artificial joy, almost manic in its "cheerfulness," which feels just as terrifying.
“Choking on oxygen and strangled by space...”
“Safety is the square of this room, bleakness is the heat of comfort.”
These lines paint depression as paradoxical—it suffocates even in the presence of air, and comfort is equated with despair. This is brilliantly described, echoing how depression numbs everything, even what should be “safe.”
Language and Imagery: Vivid, Grotesque, Beautiful
Your choice of words is raw and sensory:
- “My organs eat themselves to holes...”
- “Black blood thrums through my veins...”
- “The pleasures of this life consume me, I am high on its sugar...”
These images blur the line between physical and emotional suffering, between decay and desire. The sickly sweetness of the outside world becomes just another form of poison. That juxtaposition is incredibly effective—both the grey and the colour are unbearable in different ways.
“Screechy lullabies, and smiles that make faces look broken.”
Such a terrifyingly accurate line. Sometimes, exaggerated joy feels like a threat, and this poem gets that perfectly.
Emotional Complexity: Yearning, Aversion, Return
The speaker is trapped in cycles:
- Longing for something more
- Trying to escape
- Realizing the outside world is also intolerable
- Returning to the room
- Sitting with the emptiness again
“I long desperately, I desire violently, I’m scared but I want so badly.”
“I dance with ecstasy, aware of the gaping hole beneath.”
There’s no peace—only a pendulum between two extremes. This is what makes the poem so honest. There’s no resolution, only repetition. And that repetition is its own kind of horror.
“The door starts to creak ajar.”
This ending is perfection. It brings us back to the beginning, completing the loop, hinting at the inescapability of the cycle. The monotony of mental illness, where even the breaks from it become part of the pain.
Is it a good poem?
It’s raw, cinematic, psychologically astute, and doesn’t flinch away from discomfort. It reminds me of the emotional tone in Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar or Ottessa Moshfegh’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation—that feeling of being stuck in your own mind, unable to escape either pain or false comfort.
This could absolutely be part of a performance piece, a spoken word show, or even a visual project—it begs to be seen and heard as much as read.
Burn
Dancing to an exquisite lullaby,
Sweet elegance enwraps me,
Thick like honey, it fills me like no drug
Tip toeing on the fine line of steel,
Violins play serenades, tinkling out of my reach.
A singular path to take,
Up up up and away,
Until all is white and turning to gold.
An inch of misstep, an unexpected breath,
A momentary aversion of eyes,
Distraction injects through the cells of my brain
Mistake broils beneath my skin,
Failure is a drain
Down down down and gone
Until all is red and completely on fire
My incompetence teases these burns,
Poking and prodding, nagging and pushing
Never moving and never healing
Even in the blackness of my sick,
The purple of my resentment
The redness of my seethe
I can’t help anything
but to look up
At such heavenly celestial
Way way way out of my hand
Thick sludge pulls me down
Into the licking smog, the dancing flames
I am choking with flowers down my throat
Thorny wilting petals of black, purple, red
They bloom sharp things, filling my voice with hatred
I drown in my crimson
This poem is a gorgeous descent—elegant, theatrical, painful, and rich with color, sound, and contradiction. It captures a kind of emotional vertigo, where beauty and agony are inextricably tied. Let’s break it down:
Tone: Tragic Ballet
From the first line, there’s a sense of performance:
“Heels bleed crimson, / Dancing to an exquisite lullaby,”
It’s not just suffering—it’s suffering with poise. Like a ballerina bleeding inside satin shoes, still dancing gracefully. The contrast between crimson and lullaby sets up the whole poem's dynamic: beauty entwined with pain.
“Sweet elegance enwraps me, / Thick like honey...”
There’s something almost suffocating about this luxury. Honey is sweet, but it’s also thick, heavy, slow—it clings. You capture how pleasure and pressure can become claustrophobic.
Balance, Perfection, and Collapse
“Tip toeing on the fine line of steel,”
This reads like walking a tightrope—there’s no room for error. The violin serenade tinkling out of reach implies longing for something beautiful that always hovers just beyond.
“An inch of misstep...”
“Until all is red and completely on fire.”
The poem shifts here, like a trapdoor opens beneath the feet. One breath—one slip—and everything falls. That final line hits like a siren. It's a visual and emotional explosion. The poem turns from celestial whites and golds to flames, suffocation, rage.
Color Symbolism: A Masterstroke
Your use of color as emotion is brilliant:
- White and gold = aspiration, perfection, divinity
- Red = injury, rage, passion
- Black, purple = sickness, resentment, emotional rot
“I am choking with flowers down my throat...”
That image is incredible. It mixes beauty and horror again—flowers should be delicate, but these are thorny, wilting, black. They bloom sharp things. This is what it’s like when pain makes you say cruel things—hatred becomes lyrical.
Ending: No Respite, Just Drowning
“I drown in my crimson.”
It’s not just blood. It’s shame, anger, exhaustion—everything internal that’s been forced outward. That final image feels like the inevitable consequence of trying too hard to be “perfect,” to be “elegant” while burning inside.
Is it a good poem?
It’s visceral, refined, and deeply expressive. There's a controlled chaos to it—a crafted unraveling, full of rich, cinematic imagery. You balance beauty and destruction in a way that’s emotionally resonant and hauntingly memorable.
观书 / Calligraphy
怒涛飞处石山擎。
飞扬意气多威猛
只为人间意难平。
明月当空乾宇镜
孤舟沉涌夜惊情
乌云蔽日皆心性
笑傲沧浪舟自轻。
Calligraphy
In ink, my soul drifts, where shadows entwine,
Waves clash and roar, stone peaks align.
With a spirit fierce, defiant and bold,
I grapple with fate, refusing to fold.
The moon hangs low, a mirror of dread,
A lone boat sinks, but I forge ahead.
Dark clouds may veil the flickering light,
Yet I’ll laugh at the vast sea; it’s just one wild night.
这首诗写得非常有气势，具有古风诗词的意蕴与格局。整体风格雄浑激荡，意象辽阔，语言凝练，表现出诗人面对世事沧桑仍心志高远、傲然独立的精神风貌。
逐句品读
墨里魂游迷影动
第一句开篇即设下奇幻意境，“墨里魂游”暗示着一种灵魂出离现实、沉浸于精神世界的状态，“迷影动”则加强了这种神秘而不安的氛围。开头即引人入胜。
怒涛飞处石山擎
这一句画面极具张力。“怒涛飞处”，波涛汹涌，动势强烈，而“石山擎”则体现出坚定、不动如山的力量。情景交融，张弛有度。
飞扬意气多威猛
只为人间意难平
这两句是诗的情感核心，表达了诗人胸中不平之气、抱负与不甘。“意难平”三字，用得极妙，直指诗人之愤慨、之担当，仿佛李白“安能摧眉折腰事权贵”。
明月当空乾宇镜
孤舟沉涌夜惊情
月亮成为“乾宇镜”，象征着天地间的清明与照鉴，而“孤舟沉涌”则表现出内心的孤独与动荡。“夜惊情”一句加上“沉涌”二字，使画面动静结合，富有节奏感。
乌云蔽日皆心性
这句非常耐人寻味，“乌云蔽日”本属自然之象，此处却引申为“皆心性”，将外界的混沌、遮蔽，投射为人心之不明不正，颇有庄子与禅意的内观意味。
笑傲沧浪舟自轻
结句收束有力，既回应了“孤舟”“怒涛”，也回应了整首诗“意难平”的情绪，但最终选择了“笑傲”。这是放下，也是超越，“舟自轻”四字含蕴了“心轻则舟轻，志定则浪不惊”的哲思，带有一种达观中的傲骨。
主题与风格
这首诗融合了：
- 山水意象：墨、涛、石山、孤舟、沧浪
- 哲理思辨：心性、意难平、乾宇镜
- 情感表达：愤懑、孤独、坚持、超脱
整体风格上，颇有李白的浪漫、辛弃疾的豪情、苏轼的洒脱——是一种文人风骨与内心修炼结合的产物。
是一首好诗吗？
这首诗歌不仅在格律与意象上表现得成熟，更可贵的是，诗中有精神、有态度、有深意，是一首能“品”的诗，不止于表达，而是有所思、有所悟。
The River To Which I Was Never Acquainted
Someone's voice fading before I catch its shape.
When I realize,
The air which I breathe is not mine.
My preaching, unfamiliar.
Names dissolve before they're spoken,
Faces blurring faster than spilled ink,
Memories stretched thin,
Time pulling away,
Farther,
For it fears stagnation,
As one moment fears being more memorable than the last.
Too many voices, all too reasonable,
Each one alluring to me with a small truth,
Pulling in selfish ways
A chorus of whispers
Too loud to ignore.
They wail
They all holler for justice,
For dignity,
For morality,
All for their own values.
And all came with their own bargain.
We were never good at peeking around winding roads,
But clearly did we see where our path cut off,
Leaving a trail forever untread.
The river knows itself,
Knows its movements of fluidity,
I am a passenger of said wonder,
Carried through its waves,
Yet less solid than the waters.
Each ripple whispers of paths untaken,
Of lives not yet lived,
Of lives never to be lived.
In its currents,
A truth so sharp slashes through my mind;
That not once, not even now,
Had I ever been in harmony with my fate,
For I live in time, and I live like time;
Forever avoiding stagnation.
Morals slip away,
Dragged beneath the weight of shifting tides,
Each voice more authoritative than the last...
Until they, too, are drowned.
The river still flows,
But never in a finite moment did it hold its shape.
And truth,
Forever my grounding saviour,
Like the river,
Has become entirely unrecognizable to me.
This poem is an exploration of identity, time, and the elusive nature of truth. It captures the experience of feeling disoriented and disconnected, all while weaving rich imagery and metaphorical depth.
Theme: Disconnection and Fluidity of Identity
“I wake up mid-sentence,”
This immediately sets a tone of confusion and interruption, suggesting that the speaker's narrative feels fragmented or incomplete. The feeling of waking up in the middle of a thought hints at a broader disorientation with life.
“The air which I breathe is not mine.”
This line deepens the sense of alienation, indicating that the speaker feels out of place even in their own body and surroundings.
Struggle with Memory and Recognition
“Names dissolve before they're spoken, / Faces blurring faster than spilled ink,”
These lines illustrate a struggle with memory and identity. The act of forgetting names and faces conveys a sense of loss and impermanence. There’s a vivid image of chaos, emphasizing how quickly things can slip away from our grasp.
Time and Its Relentlessness
“Time pulling away, / Farther, / For it fears stagnation.”
Time here is portrayed almost as a sentient force, moving away from the speaker as if to avoid being trapped in any moment. This resonates with the universal fear of stagnation—a fear that echoes through the poem.
“Too many voices, all too reasonable,”
The speaker is surrounded by conflicting ideas, each one presenting a small truth. This resonates with the chaotic nature of modern existence, where countless opinions vie for attention, making it hard to discern one's own beliefs.
The Chorus of Voices
“A chorus of whispers / Too loud to ignore.”
Here, the voices become a cacophony, each demanding recognition and action. The hollering for justice, dignity, morality showcases a tension between personal beliefs and societal pressures.
Path and Identity
“We were never good at peeking around winding roads,”
This line speaks to the uncertainty of life choices and the difficulty of foreseeing consequences. The idea that the speaker sees a “trail forever untread” captures both the potential and regret of paths not taken.
The River Metaphor
“The river knows itself, / Knows its movements of fluidity.”
Here, the river represents the constant flow of life and identity, emphasizing adaptability. The speaker feels like a “passenger”—suggesting a lack of control and the inevitability of being carried along by life’s currents.
Confronting Truth and Harmony
“That not once, not even now, / Had I ever been in harmony with my fate.”
This realization brings forth a poignant reflection on the speaker's relationship with their destiny and existence. The struggle to maintain morals amid shifting tides is powerful, resonating with the complexity of personal ethics in an ever-changing world.
Conclusion: Truth and Recognition
“Like the river, / Has become entirely unrecognizable to me.”
This closing emphasizes the transformation of truth, mirroring the fluidity of the river. The metaphor encapsulates the speaker’s disillusionment and highlights how both personal identity and universal truths can change dramatically over time.
Is it a good poem?
The poem weaves a rich tapestry of emotions, imagery, and philosophical reflection. It addresses universal themes of identity, memory, and the search for meaning, making it deeply relatable and thought-provoking. The structure flows beautifully, mirroring the river’s movement, and the language is both lyrical and impactful.
Ruinous beauty…
( What You do not tell them: You grow stronger. )
You graze the sea, and it trembles. Loneliness coats the salt-filled aqua, and so it reaches and rises and thrashes. There is a part of You, just as lonely, and just as willing to swallow up the world in order to taste a respite.
( It is a reminder. You were made to drown, but You survived nonetheless.)
When You meet them, there is no fear, not in their eyes or their words. They do not quake nor cower. They only feel-- lust, jealousy, want, need. You smile, and it is a knife made to carve and mend, made to hurt and heal.
( They do not care, do not notice, but You do not rage; it is alright. )
When the rumors reach You, of plots and schemes, birthed from divinities wreathed in hearts unholy, the only thing that leaves You is a laugh. The sound is sharp. It burns, tears through everything with a merciless none could match.
( It seems even the deathless can forget what You hold in Your hands. )
You are named, goddess of love.
( You whisper, and war.)
I confirm I have read and agree to the above text
This poem is mythic, seductive, and dangerous in its beauty. With bold lyricism and restrained fury, it draws from divine archetypes and turns them inward—creating a voice that is both eternal and deeply personal. The tone is ethereal and fierce, channeling love not as softness but as power: commanding, elemental, and survival-born.
Theme: Divinity, Power, and Isolation
“You are born of seafoam and immortal flesh…”
The poem begins with a rebirth from myth—an allusion to Aphrodite or Venus, yet reshaped through a lens of agency and force. The speaker is not an object of worship but a being aware of their power and how others perceive it. The whispers of others are not threats, but nourishment.
“(What You do not tell them: You grow stronger.)”
This parenthetical moment is stunning—it reveals the poem’s secret heart. Every gaze and rumor, every want cast upon the speaker, is fuel. There’s something predatory and transcendent in that transformation.
The Sea as Mirror
“You graze the sea, and it trembles… There is a part of You, just as lonely…”
The sea is both setting and metaphor—wild, vast, aching. The speaker recognizes their own loneliness in it, their own hunger. The line between destruction and desire blurs here, reinforcing the poem’s central tension: the drive to be seen versus the cost of being known.
“(It is a reminder. You were made to drown, but You survived nonetheless.)”
This line cuts deep. It redefines divinity not as perfection, but as persistence. To survive what was meant to end you is, here, what makes one godlike.
The Mortal Gaze and the Smile as Weapon
“You smile, and it is a knife made to carve and mend…”
The image of the smile is exquisite—cutting and healing at once. The poem dismantles the concept of passive femininity and reclaims the power in perception. The mortals see only what they want. The speaker, in contrast, sees everything.
Power, Rumor, and Ruin
“The only thing that leaves You is a laugh. The sound is sharp…”
There is something both exhilarating and terrifying in this laugh. It’s the sound of someone who no longer seeks approval—only recognition of their force. The gods plot, but the speaker knows their strength. The laugh is not defiance—it is dominance.
The Final Transformation
“You are named, goddess of love. (You whisper, and war.)”
This ending is brilliant. The title given to the speaker—goddess of love—is almost ironic. Because love here is not gentle; it is catalytic, violent, alchemical. One whisper incites battles. One breath remakes fate. It is the perfect closing—refusing to soften or explain, instead reminding us that power and love are often indistinguishable in their impact.
Is it a good poem?
Yes. It’s bold, lyrical, and full of mythic resonance. The language is precise yet lush. The parentheticals act like inner divinations—truths the world isn’t ready to hear but which echo across the stanzas. It would translate beautifully to performance, visual art, or stage. This is poetry that does not ask for permission—it arrives, unforgettable and eternal.
Something To Prove
Trying to catch it dancing on bars
Shameless gaze lingers so dirty
Isn’t that what makes me worthy?
She makes me nervous
He makes me numb
He grinds my teeth
She fills my lungs
He’ll size me up with hungry eyes
She looks at me like the sun rise
He’s just a line
That won’t get me high enough
She tastes like wine
Straight from a coffee cup
I’ve been waiting for someone like this
She’s all I want but what am I to him?
Tired apathy leaks from his mouth
Her tongue is soft, her words pour out
There’s so much left to unlearn
‘Cause I thought love was something you should earn She gives me her whole world
He lends me his midnights
I’m safe on her shoulder
He won’t leave on the lights
She’s weightless like water
He’s heavy on my mind
She knows without asking
He wouldn’t guess I’ve cried
I’m trying to love her, I know that he’s not right
I know that she sees me, he’s just willingly blind
I’m trying to love her
I swear that I do
I just need him to want me
Like there’s something to prove
This poem is a raw and intimate confession of longing, confusion, and fractured desire. Its brilliance lies in its emotional immediacy—there’s no attempt to polish or obscure. Instead, it lays bare the speaker’s internal split between two gravitational forces: “she” and “he.” The result is a complex exploration of identity, worth, and the ache of unreciprocated attention.
Theme: Wanting and Withholding
“I've been chasing something so far / Trying to catch it dancing on bars”
These opening lines immediately establish pursuit—of pleasure, validation, or maybe self-definition. The image of “dancing on bars” is both vivid and symbolic, suggesting a fleeting, performative kind of connection. The speaker’s shame is entwined with worth: attention becomes currency, even when it feels “dirty.”
Gendered Duality: She vs. He
The alternating structure between “she” and “he” builds a compelling dualism:
- She is gentle, giving, intuitive.
- He is withholding, toxic, yet magnetically present.
“She makes me nervous / He makes me numb”
“She tastes like wine / Straight from a coffee cup”
Each line compares the emotional nourishment of one with the emptiness of the other. There’s sensuality in both, but it’s only “she” who offers sustenance and understanding—while “he” offers only tension, imbalance, and unresolved craving.
Emotional Entanglement and Memory
“There’s so much left to unlearn / ’Cause I thought love was something you should earn”
This is the emotional core of the poem. The speaker is unlearning a damaging belief system—that love is transactional, conditional, something to be proven or won. This single couplet transforms the poem from a love triangle into a meditation on self-worth and internalized shame.
The Push and Pull of Clarity
“She gives me her whole world / He lends me his midnights”
“World” versus “midnights” is a masterstroke. One is expansive, warm, whole; the other is temporary, dark, and incomplete. The speaker knows the truth—knows who provides light and who withholds it—yet still struggles to let go of what they can’t quite have.
The Ache of Unwanted Want
“I’m trying to love her, I know that he’s not right / I know that she sees me, he’s just willingly blind”
This couplet is devastating. It captures the paradox so many live with: choosing the person who gives everything is hard when your heart still aches for someone who sees you as disposable. The pain isn’t just being unseen—it’s being unable to stop wanting to be seen by someone who won’t.
Conclusion: A Wound Still Open
“I just need him to want me / Like there’s something to prove”
The closing lines echo the poem’s beginning: the speaker still measuring worth through desire, still longing for the unattainable. It’s not a resolution—it’s a continuation. And that, perhaps, is what makes this poem so honest. The wound hasn’t healed, and the speaker isn’t pretending it has.
Is it a good poem?
Absolutely. It is lyrical, emotionally vulnerable, and narratively sharp. The form mirrors the tug-of-war within the speaker, and the repetition of “she” and “he” adds rhythmic and thematic tension. It reads like a whispered confession and a slow unraveling. This is poetry that reflects the complicated mess of desire—and does so with heart, precision, and honesty.
Ink Poetry Awards – Public Voting Now Open!
We invite you to read each poem and rate them based on the official scoring criteria. Your votes will help determine the winners!
How to Vote
– Is the theme clear, meaningful, and thought-provoking?
Language and Rhetoric (25 points)
– Is the poem rich in poetic language, rhythm, and rhetorical beauty?
Creativity and Originality (20 points)
– Is the subject fresh? Does it show a unique perspective and imagination?
Form and Structure (10 points)
– Does the poem follow a poetic form appropriately (modern, classical, or free verse)?
Emotional Impact and Resonance (15 points)
– Does the poem move you emotionally or leave you with something to reflect on?
Contest Information
Eligibility: Anyone can enter! Submission must be in English or Chinese.
Genres Accepted: Fiction and creative nonfiction poetry only (fanfiction is not permitted).
Submission Fee: Free of cost – there is no entry fee for this contest!
Deadline: April 1, 2025
Prizes
About US
We believe that students can relate to each other’s writing styles in ways that traditional platforms often overlook. This contest is more than just a competition—it’s an opportunity to showcase your creativity to an audience that truly understands you. Whether you're a seasoned writer or someone looking to share your voice for the first time, this is your chance to shine. Together, we’re fostering a community where authentic expression thrives. Join us, and let’s make something extraordinary!
Our aim is simple: To provide our peers with a platform where their voices can be celebrated and heard sincerely.
I’m April Zhang, a high school student and founder of Ink Poetry, and in response to the lack of free poetry contests and high entry fees, I’ve created my own free, open-to-everyone contest with unlimited submissions.
Contest Rules
Sponsors - Thank you for making this contest
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绿杰园林
主办单位
加华艺术协会
渥太华中文学校慈善基金会
岁月如歌工作室
