.. @foxyvalley - Tumblr Blog

what happens to you when its a full moon

the smoke from the houses has been going all day. it's clear something big is being arranged. something familiar. something traditional. something tasty.

mum is on the other side of the field and has seemed distracted lately. whenever the farmer comes out she is now weary and far too curious. she keeps looking into the forest on the far side of the green like she has a dream to run but she is too fickle to commit to the dark and the unknown.

i am too much like my mother.

i cannot tell her i know. i know what is to come - i have heard the whispers of the great slaughter. and i want to tell her to protect herself.

to run and take the risk.

that maybe the next village over is better.

and she should go. prompt: stuffed lamb from @nosebleedclub

#poetry #poem #original poem #poets on tumblr

nosebleedclub

Did you bring the light?

foxyvalley

Let me tell you what I carry with me - cheeks bitten blood inside until a fire raged

Galloping fingertips getting me by As monsters lurked in corners my vision couldn't see And that razzy feeling That made me feel too alive became all of me Plateau days Until the fire seized Back into the cusps of my cheeks I stitched the light into my denim pockets So monsters are kept at bay And when the gnawing paws at my cheeks again I think about the plateau days

cupid must be smoking on the job again window browsing, lung killing, app scrolling he can never keep up with my self love he lets me fall to waste bones to dust, lungs i can't trust i mean, man. he's a man, i guess he's fine to leave me reaching out and ruining my nails leaving my dirty fingerprints on the white picket fence

Whenever I next see My seven year old self face-to-face How am I supposed to say, "I spent the rest of my life wishing I was you". My safe space behemoth, playing out in the cul-de-sac under balmy sunsets, hot pavements, carless streets. Kicking a football up and down, riding a bike badly, drawing doodles in chalk, imagination imagination. What can I be when I grow up? The glorification, the mortification, the mummification of adults who worked hard. Put food on the table, wash the dishes, clean linens that can always be cleaner, iron the uniforms on Sunday. Whenever I next see My seven year old self face-to-face How am I supposed to say, "You spend the rest of your life dreaming of you". "You meet your love young, you study well, you party a little too hard at times, but somehow you do it. You end up in a tech company and you're happy, but the world has failed you, and you never truly get over all this shit". Deep breaths. Five times. Odd numbers are more attractive. "None of those dreams come true, but, little egg, you won't tear yourself open looking for who you could be".

edward okun, Raguza. 1930.

idontkaren

From The Runaway Bunny by Margaret Wise Brown and Clement Hurd

murraysiskind-deactivated202406

@indigoadult7

#nbc vibes

eatingjupiterarchive

YOU SHELL- SHOCKED SWEETNESS, ON WHICH I REACH DOWN TO EAT THE WORDS OUT . THERE GOES THE RIVER DRAWING OUT THE SKIN FOR A LUSTFUL PEN , THAT COUNTS DOWN SECONDS UNTILL THE FIRE GROWS TO THE MOUTH. I CARRY MOMENTS FOR YOU TO BEND INTO A FOREVER US.

FOR @nosebleedclub ‘s JULY PROMPTS DUO ( DAY ONE . ) ART FROM HERE . A PART OF THIS STORY.