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May Writing Contest Winner

I would like to congratulate Temidayo for being May’s prose winner of the 2B or Not 2B website! This piece especially stood out to me due to its modern applications. Massive, global societal issues exist, yet they are merely glanced over by the media and Western culture. I hope you will enjoy this piece as much as I did.

You can explore Temidayo’s blog and her other works here.

Every month there will be a new winner pertaining to all genres of writing, so keep a lookout for new artists featured on this blog!

 

The Chibok Girls
by Temidayo

April 14th was the third anniversary of the kidnapping of 276 girls, from the Government Girls Secondary School, school dormitories, in Chibok, Nigeria. This poem is a cry for the safe return of the rest of the 195 girls that have yet to return.

It’s been three years now. Three years since the 276 girls were taken by force, in the dark of the night from the place that was the foundation of their aspirations. It’s been three years since 195 girls have last seen their families.

It is hard to comprehend. Always has been. It is difficult comprehending how people said that human beings could celebrate the kidnapping of girls on the path of a better future. It is difficult comprehending why the government has yet to rescue the 195 of them. However, it’s a luxury for those whose problem is to comprehend how such an evil could happen, and not in how it had happened to them.

There are things many of us will fail to fully understand. The emotion the parents feel when the next girl, who was managed to make it back home, isn’t their daughter. The emotion a mother feels when her daughter comes back with a baby although she is almost half the age, her Mother was when she had her first child. The agony some of the girls felt losing their babies while escaping.

However, despite the mess, a few thing are clear. Justice shall prevail, we are not afraid, and we shall #BringBackOurGirls.

 

 

Photo Courtesy: CNN Stephanie Busari, Nima Elbagir and Sebastiaan Knoops

I Steal the Silence

I steal the silence.

The air is crisp tonight, and my lungs expand noiselessly between breaths; I feel them brush against my rib cage in soft caresses. In, out. My chest hums with a certain happiness, a broken quiet. Slowly, I bury my toes into the soil and I feel them thrum below the earth. The roots of the trees send signals across my feet, primitive neurons climbing up my ankles.

The lamp swells in a vacuum of voices, and I swallow it up, absorb it in my pores. I close my eyes and listen.

The silence is a voice of its own.

 

 

Written by Hannah Butcher

©2BorNot2B. All rights reserved.

 

April Writing Contest Winner

Happy Sunday!

I would like to congratulate Sakshi (AKA the Escapist) for being April’s prose winner of the 2B or Not 2B website! Her writing is filled with simplistic imagery and genuine emotions, and I’m so happy to be able to share her work. Her piece “Unfamiliar Contentment” effortlessly depicts a father’s love for his newborn child.

You can explore Sakshi’s blog and her other works here.

Every month there will be a new winner pertaining to all genres of writing, so keep a lookout for new artists featured on this blog!

 

Unfamiliar Contentment
by Sakshi the Escapist 

He held her for the first time in his arms and her tiny hand gripped his finger. The touch was soft. Tender. He could already feel the walls around his heart crumbling under its power. The walls he had built for years, brick by brick. While looking at her beautiful face, he was feeling an unfamiliar contentment.

“What did I tell you?” his wife asked him. He could hear the smugness in her voice.

He raised his eyes and looked towards his wife who was smirking and looking at the tiny bundle of happiness in his arms. He got up from the chair and sat beside his wife on the hospital bed. He felt his face split into a wide smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s perfect.”

Just then their daughter yawned with her baby mouth and opened her small eyes, and in that moment, he felt he had conquered the world.

 

 

 

*If you would like to participate in the April writing contest, simply fill out a form on this website’s Submissions Page. You may send me an email or comment below if you have any questions or concerns.*

I’m looking forward to May’s submissions!

Piety

 

Between the crevices in the syntax, the sentence, the subject,

punctuation serves as an altar

to ideas that cannot be connected by splinters or nails.

Exclamation marks that yell also scream out tales.

Gentle commas swirl into periods, like silk but even softer

 and create something that serves

the crevices between the icons and the choir.

 

Written by Hannah Butcher

©2BorNot2B. All rights reserved.

Tiny Bird

I pad across cobblestone streets

and my wide eyes drink in

the world around me.

I watch as the sky releases fleets

of dark grey and water-color yellow–

Big Ben punctures the clouds.

I ask him where I am and he bends his head,

exhales a gust of bells and a metallic groan:

“A world away from your own.”

 

Something swells

in my chest and tells

me to soar into grey clouds

and release my comfort zone,

fling it down like a bomb

that I usually hug close.

I am a tiny bird,

breaking bonds, youthful yellow.

I am learning to explore.

 

Written by Hannah Butcher

©2BorNot2B. All rights reserved.

March Poetry Contest Winner

Happy Sunday, everyone!

I would like to congratulate Ralph Alley III (AKA Connor) for being March’s poetry winner of the 2B or Not 2B website! His writing follows a narrative structure and truly transports the reader to a different world. His poem “Beyond Our Dreams” shows how poetry can easily become a device of story-telling.

Every month there will be a new winner pertaining to all genres of writing, so keep a look out for new artists featured on this blog!

 

Beyond Our Dreams

By Ralph Alley III

With a siren voice singing and exhaustion coming into my mind as a guest,
my mind and soul go into a long sleep.
I stand on a small sphere of green, solid and blue liquid
that my bare feet may crush without notice.
In my blue monk robes and white wings behind my back,
black hair falls down like a waterfall to my back
with feelings of veneration from head to toe.

Spheres of light fly in the black sky,
with the Queen of the golden sun and King of the silver moon dancing together.
Nebulas shine and galaxies sparkle
and constellations run throughout space;
Oh, what a beautiful sight it was!

A male voice came out of the void,
rich as honey, but dark as blood.
He asked me, “Little girl, what do you think of dreams?”

I answered, “Dreams are the beliefs that we believe in,
reminders that gives us strength throughout the day.”

The spirit appeared,
wearing a robe of infernos,
“Ha! Dreams are lies.
Humans make dreams to believe in the lies they make,
so how can dreams be truth?”

I replied, “I didn’t say that dreams are truth or lies.
Dreams are what our secrets and hidden desires come from.
Just like there are two sides of a coin,
dreams focus on our happiness, bravery and calmness
while nightmares tell us our worst fears, anger and depression.”

The spirit then took me to a metropolis near a sea
where things were done by free will.
But then hurricanes, earthquakes, tsunamis, and heat waves
appeared of all sudden
while other natural disasters occurred
around other parts of the world,
killing so many people and wildlife.

The spirit, with a malicious smile, said,
“You may look at the good,
but you never look at the bad.
That is the nature of being human,
but it is always your choice.”

Out of nowhere, a thunderbolt came straight down from
heavens and struck where I stood.

At that moment,
I woke with sweat on my brow
and I then remembered the dream,
which took a few seconds,
and learned an important lesson.

Many people question,
“What will the end of the world be like?”
Many answer with differently,
with or without evidence,
but the truth is that we never know,
because the answer is beyond our dreams.

 

You can view more of Connor’s pieces here.

*If you would like to participate in the April writing contest, simply fill out a form on this website’s Submissions Page. You may send me an email or comment below if you have any questions or concerns.*

Never stop writing!

How to Be Happy

if you

pluck a rainbow from the sky and

tie it in a bow,

offer it as a present to

a clouded heart.

soon,

the weather channel will broadcast

the weatherman’s forecast

as a pair of sunshine smiles.

 

Written by Hannah Butcher

©2BorNot2B. All rights reserved.

December Poetry Contest Winner [Plus How to Submit]

Congratulations to Chloe Coates for being the first poetry winner of the 2B or Not 2B website! Every month there will be a new winner pertaining to all genres of writing, so keep a look out for new artists featured on this blog.

Doors to Life
by Chloe Coates

What are we,
man,
woman,
child,
that have the chance
to bring forth life
into this hopeless world?

A smile,
a laugh,
an idea.
When allowed to grow, to thrive,
they produce a beautiful thing…
happiness, life, love.

We, humans, are the doors
to
life.

*If you would like to participate in the January writing contest, simply fill out a form on this website’s Submissions Page. You may send me an email or comment below if you have any questions or concerns.*

Good luck, keep writing, and have a very happy New Year!

When People-Watching

There’s a certain type of beauty to the morning, a certain sense of gratefulness as the world peels open its crusted eyes. While the continents un-tuck themselves from oceanic blankets, the continents mumble, Thank God we’re alive. Thank God we’re breathing. Africa bangs on the head of a drum– Antarctica shivers and Australia stretches its arms across the Pacific. The world is conscious. The world is awake. The world is alive.

It is 78 degrees. The air is lukewarm. As an observer, I am an onlooker with the intent to absorb. There is a reason for all of this—for the metal chair resting beneath my thighs, for the squirrel staring at me through the leaves, for the fly hovering over my keyboard intently. I am soaking in the sounds of half-hearted jazz from the intercom and the swelling and retreating sounds of the water fountain—I am listening to trucks hobble down the street and to birds speak to one another across palm trees. I am in the middle of it all; there are eyes etched in the back of my head and I am gazing out into the world in 360 degrees.

There is a Hispanic woman standing behind a glass window. She is out of place inside the luxury furniture store; she stares out at the fountain beyond me, shifting her feet. Slowly, methodically, she wipes away invisible fingerprints, circling a white rag on the glass in bubbly motions. She gazes beyond the window into the bustling morning, spinning the rag in circular movements. But there is a flash in her eyes– I can tell she envisions that, instead of the rag, the world spins ‘round her hands, delicately gliding along her fingernails.

It is early; it is beautiful. It is overcast; it is elegant. I am in love with the way the air smells of chlorine and ice cream. I am in love with the way I can view the world behind me; I am invisible. I am unknown. I am a mystery.

I don’t know why I keep waiting for something spectacular to happen. Do we all do this? Sit and watch and wonder? The train is here. The train is loud. The train is not elegant. It is blasting and reverberating; it is distressful; it is anxious. The tracks are terrified. The streets tremble and the glass window shudders.

I watch as the woman in the furniture store blinks and turns away.

©2BorNot2B

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