&

em ~ 27 ~ creative writing

[fluffcember2020]

What is Fluffcember?

Fluffcember is an event where you write/draw/create things based on fluff prompts during the month of December. It’s meant to feel like a break after dealing with whumptober and nanowrimo and the general stress of the year. December isn’t for a few more months, but at some point around November expect the blog to become more active and we will release the prompts sometime around then! We hope some of you are interested in doing this with us!

[sepiatown]

a me you never knew hangs from the tassel of a table cloth where ladybugs crawl in the heat of autumn no frost nor snow resides here  drops of rain hang as heavy as the memory of it all  & where have i taken myself? you reminded me of all the best parts of my teenage years where a sun rose & fell on the carpet & i would strip in fields & bathe in rivers          covered in the marsh of beaded water and ruby pebbles  there is the smell of cut grass i will never get back                             jade of glass / puddle looking back at me       hold me close  pour from my hands a precious stone  wiped clean of remorse

[sepiatown]

unfit

with your eyes on me so comfortable/too close a dressed table linen, lace set & throws crammed in the couch unfit lavender choked in the vase but / there she is! / you found yourself again! scrubbed clean patterning the walls pressing what you wanted into my palm, i never asked for this there is a desire on your tongue that no one answers to it is neither hers nor mine nor anyone new

[lofeel]

[sepiatown]

i remember you standing in the echoes of everything i’ve ever known  as tranquility for my mother // sepiatown

[sepiatown]

3pm stories // sepiatown

[genterie]

[holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe]

“I see it in female writers and their female narrators, troves of stories about vaguely dissatisfied women who no longer fully own their feelings. Pain is everywhere and nowhere. Post-wounded women know that postures of pain play into limited and outmoded conceptions of womanhood. Their hurt has a new native language spoken in several dialects: sarcastic, apathetic, opaque; cool and clever. They guard against those moments when melodrama or self-pity might split their careful seams of intellect. I should rather call it a seam. We have sewn ourselves up.”

— The Empathy Exams by Leslie Jamison

[faebinding-archive-deactivated2]

sometimes you gotta ‘its not that deep’ yourself

[sepiatown]

anointed // sepiatown

[sepiatown]

my handkerchief folded in on all four corners here are jewels, feathers from a thrush there are acorns, some are pebbles mine are secret things cherished heart stone climbing the ladder in my soul widening its arms      make space finally settles it peeks towards the reservoir a panel i crunched in with my fingers i seized nothing but letting go’s yours is a spell only i have known your hands are committed those hands flick from your pockets  dripping bells sound the alarm former my ink is dry still you needed it dripping bells // sepiatown

[intelligentdeviant]

"And the coolness of your smile is

stirringofbirds between my arms;but

i should rather than anything

have(almost when hugeness will shut

quietly)almost,

your kiss”

[E.E. Cummings]

[scandireader]

e.e. cummings

[wheatpsalm]

[love is more thicker than forget] e.e. cummings

love is more thicker than forget more thinner than recall more seldom than a wave is wet more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly and less it shall unbe than all the sea which only is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win less never than alive less bigger than the least begin less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly and more it cannot die than all the sky which only is higher than the sky

[sepiatown]

my reading of e.e. cummings. xxx enjoy

[sepiatown]

forward we go drinker of buttercups               of plush stars that catapult whim of wisps & plains following tracks of slippery leaves pressed like stamps in the slick mud see how your arms are bare see how the shapes of your mouth moves jaded with forevers carrying blues & mean reds see how they stare as they watch our spine break to & then wait all the anchors of sodden lists dancing in the wings of whatever it is but underbrush of pleasants my sorrows keep no company, but gives me plenty forward, a presence too quick to be seen when all is said that needs to be said carrying blues and mean reds // sepiatown

[stlowens]

Jennifer Compton, The Pursuit of Poetry