I’ll never forgive the internet for training a generation of artists and writers to call what they make “content.”

Boxes have contents. You’re a fucking ARTIST. You make ART. Own it.

I uploaded two poems, screen shotted from my patreon, but they don't seem to come up? Can anyone actually see them or?

Scream Queen Lament. A poem I wrote in honour of the woman in the horror movies only there to die pretty.

Scream Queen Lament. A poem I wrote in honour of the woman in the horror movies only there to die pretty.

Good morning, my Patreon stays exclusive for 6 months from I publish. As such, when I get home tonight I'll post some old patreon poems here for you.

If you want to support me as always, my patreon is patreon.com/Ceciliek

and my tip jar is ceciliewriteswords@gmail.com

Have a nice day!

From my Patreon.

L. Cohen.

A piece I wrote after Leonard Cohen passed.

"I watched him like the universe watches a solar system implode on itself and form again from the wreckage;
How it must ache for everything it had loved and
God, how it must hurt to see it move on."

Good morning, my Patreon stays exclusive for 6 months from I publish. As such, when I get home tonight I'll post some old patreon poems here for you.

If you want to support me as always, my patreon is patreon.com/Ceciliek

and my tip jar is ceciliewriteswords@gmail.com

Have a nice day!

New piece,

A Prayer For A Quiet Moment

[I release all expectations that tomorrow
will find me with my birth name on my tongue.]

patreon.com/posts/prayer-for-q

I am tired of being unloved into this shape,
this wholeness of being. This prison
of normality. Bring me the cracks of reality
where you lie waiting, and I, loved
until I burst into snow
ready to melt on your tongue.

2/2

I don’t know how not to be loved to pieces,
whole, I am nothing impressive. A machinery
that forms around a heart
that walks and talks and sits in the shower
pretending it’s a rain storm.
But when I am loved
my arms become a harbour for your ship to
find safety. My teeth march across
your shoulders and neck like roaming
wild horses. My chest a meadow ready for
your hands to pick from, my legs
stems of flowers that braid with yours.

1/2

(story) Your party is out adventuring, when Show more

I am tired of being unloved into this shape,
this wholeness of being. This prison
of normality. Bring me the cracks of reality
where you lie waiting, and I, loved
until I burst into snow
ready to melt on your tongue.

2/2

I don’t know how not to be loved to pieces,
whole, I am nothing impressive. A machinery
that forms around a heart
that walks and talks and sits in the shower
pretending it’s a rain storm.
But when I am loved
my arms become a harbour for your ship to
find safety. My teeth march across
your shoulders and neck like roaming
wild horses. My chest a meadow ready for
your hands to pick from, my legs
stems of flowers that braid with yours.

1/2

I love that we’re two women shaving each other’s heads,
I’m plucking hair off my face and she’s painting her lids gold, I love it.
I love every burn, sting and scrape.
It feels like sisterhood, like survival, like playing a game we’ve been taught
when we were too young.
But damn,
we play it so well now."
— Bargain Bin Beauty Bonding.

A poem I wrote 3 ish years ago, really I don't need to rewrite it, but it needs a rework.

"I love rituals, I relish in them.
I lay all my make up out and pick them up one by one, stroking over my face with
brushes and pencils.
I love rolling my own cigarettes, I love the tea making ritual we have in this
house.
But there is a special place in my heart for the soft tinted pink rituals of
the women I have around me.
The 60s coloured curlers in someone’s home perm kit, the tacky 80s pink of the
cheap wax strips.
The colour of bargain bin nail polishes and the smell of red hair colour.

"A woman grows up with mythology stitched into
ill fitted dresses.
She’ll break hearts, they say.
Not a second
of girlhood is unintentional."

*blows raspberry*

I think I've written this poem better before, nor is it really a poem worth writing right now.

Into the abyss you go.

Show more
Writing Exchange

Writing Exchange is a small, focused community for poets, bloggers, and every kind of writer. This is a place to share your stories and #smallstories, talk about writing, and get to know other writers here.

Learn more about us.