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Corvus Robotica @CorvusRobotica@writing.exchange

I wrote my friend Lydia a poem. She is an amazing noise artist and trans woman going through some pretty mean health problems atm, so I wanted to finally make good on my promise to write her a mecha woman poem. To quote Catherynne Valente, it's not a robot until you put a girl inside.

Ignore the clumsy thumb down from trying to copy it

I wrote my friend Lydia a poem. She is an amazing noise artist and trans woman going through some pretty mean health problems atm, so I wanted to finally make good on my promise to write her a mecha woman poem. To quote Catherynne Valente, it's not a robot until you put a girl inside.

The poet mourns.

I feel like a (, or a ;
or alliteration interrupted.
I have more metaphors
than teeth in my mouth and yet
my jaw slacks and neither bite
nor words land where it should.
I am the shape
of negative
space
in a poem I wrote for you
seven years ago, when you were
), or the ! and my .

"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."

The poet mourns.

I feel like a (, or a ;
or alliteration interrupted.
I have more metaphors
than teeth in my mouth and yet
my jaw slacks and neither bite
nor words land where it should.
I am the shape
of negative
space
in a poem I wrote for you
seven years ago, when you were
), or the ! and my .

My body has a whole language
that speaks poetry of missing you.
My empty hands, my parting lips.
The spaces between my fingers
ache at the loss of yours. This
is the language
I have no words for. This is just
skin and absence. An open window
and empty bed, a messy kitchen table
and half filled mugs.

My body has a whole language
that speaks poetry of missing you.
My empty hands, my parting lips.
The spaces between my fingers
ache at the loss of yours. This
is the language
I have no words for. This is just
skin and absence. An open window
and empty bed, a messy kitchen table
and half filled mugs.

Places I want to put my mouth on your
mouth:

>The jacuzzi of an abandoned honey-moon hotel
>In 57 service stations
>The express lane of the 24/7 Tesco
>When the morning of perfect days break open
>My mother’s house in a moment of stillness
>Today, right now

At every temple of ephemerality
I want to put my mouth on you,
and
practise permanence.

something about sun soaked streets make me feel like you’re near,
sitting at a outside table in the sun. Sun glasses on, leather jacket
draped over a chair waiting for me. The asphalt could ignore the ocean,
could make a bridge too solid to burn. I wander,
I wander towards north, and your hands on a book or a cold beer,
before they can be on me.

You need to know this.
---
DID YOU GUYS KNOW OTTERS WAG THEIR TAILS LIKE DOGS WHEN THEYRE HAPPY

twitter.com/AMAZlNGNATURE/stat

I woke up to find happiness had nested in my chest like
like a baby bird fallen down from a higher place
than I could ever reach. It’s so little, it yells
at me to feed it and I scramble to get out of bed.
But damn, if this thing isn’t going to grow feathers
and take flight one day, and I will hold her when she comes to me
and I will remember that I am a home
to something so soft, and kind, and free.

Hey end of month #patreon update. So atm I am using the patreon money to pay my bills and I am also doing some cleaning and painting around the warehouses in hope of scraping enough money for my own room. If you like the poetry at the corvusrobotica tag support me for some patreon exclusive poems. patreon.com/Ceciliek

If you don't want to do that, but would like to help me make ends meet here in england until I leave in August my Paypal tip jar is Ceciliewriteswords@gmail.com

writers are liars.

I met you when your heart
was ringing the bell for last call.
The bouncer was a city fox
drunk on gin with a big smile
and a wet tongue.
I said
serve me something bitter,
and you consented.