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Corvus Robotica @CorvusRobotica@writing.exchange

‘We are so lightly here’ sings Cohen who isn’t even here
at all. His words upon my
heart permanent like a tattoo meant to be an
altar of entropy
as I am.
Nothing is completely easy here, it never was,
sweet denial made a garden in my mouth
and I ate what I sowed with such bitter
delight.
From water I have come, and unto water I have returned.
But I am so lightly here,
these shoes so worn. I will relearn to walk these hills
with time. I will relearn to stand the rain
with time.

New poem up on my Thank you to the new patrons from Mastodon, I hope you enjoy both my archive and my future posts. patreon.com/posts/20795973

Hello! It's my birthday, I have just moved to Norway and I'm finally starting to settle down a bit into my first week of uni. If you'd like to sub to my Patreon today I'd be super happy patreon.com/Ceciliek, and any tip for my poetry is always open at my paypal Ceciliewriteswords@gmail.com

Other than that, I've been sketching a lot of pieces and poetry will start leaking into this page over the next few days as soon as I get the patreon piece up as it's always my priority!

x

I guess my point is that sometimes life just has to happen, it doesn't always have to be caught and trapped into art straight away. Or even ever. Some life things just happen.

I was talking to my sister yesterday about emotional art, as so much has happened to me since April, such a huge period of flux. It's hard to create while the hard emotions are happening, I find, I keep feeling certain things, but I've yet to stumble over the vocabulary to deal with it.

In some way it means I feel disappointed in myself for "wasting" such a potent moment in my life. But on the other hand I will be writing about this, and I am clumsily writing about this.

Hello! It's my birthday, I have just moved to Norway and I'm finally starting to settle down a bit into my first week of uni. If you'd like to sub to my Patreon today I'd be super happy patreon.com/Ceciliek, and any tip for my poetry is always open at my paypal Ceciliewriteswords@gmail.com

Other than that, I've been sketching a lot of pieces and poetry will start leaking into this page over the next few days as soon as I get the patreon piece up as it's always my priority!

x

I make my bed with blankets.
One, and one, and a folded shirt for a pillow. I Know
there’s a home out there that knows my name. I Know
its walls creaks like my hips after sleeping on blankets
on a floor, in anticipation for softer things. I know the pillows
will rest there, then my head, then my heart. I know, I know
I make my bed with blankets.

When young
and aching with the window open to spring
did you ever believe
you’d lie here
aching with the window open to late summer?
The rain falls, yes, and you.
The storms calls, yes, and you cry out. Silence
is for young girls with fine needlepoint manners
on their tongue like silver bells, the woman howls
like a broken bell tower.

1/2

Everyone knows, but ignores, how she keeps going off
at the wrong time.
It’s August
and you’re naked with your hands on your belly
the window is open and the beginning of decay dances
over the light of day.
Tell me
why does your love sound like a banshee,
why do you taste so much of loss?
Tell me
what will you do when winter comes?
2/2

Everyone knows, but ignores, how she keeps going off
at the wrong time.
It’s August
and you’re naked with your hands on your belly
the window is open and the beginning of decay dances
over the light of day.
Tell me
why does your love sound like a banshee,
why do you taste so much of loss?
Tell me
what will you do when winter comes?
2/2

When young
and aching with the window open to spring
did you ever believe
you’d lie here
aching with the window open to late summer?
The rain falls, yes, and you.
The storms calls, yes, and you cry out. Silence
is for young girls with fine needlepoint manners
on their tongue like silver bells, the woman howls
like a broken bell tower.

1/2

Where I come from they carry the children
to the shore line.
Our mothers blood so full of salt
the ocean knows us by
smell and touch.
And we walk into it with grasping hands
to baptise ourselves.
Yes of course we fear it, of
course it has held me in its depth
where I was home and lost
at the same time. But the mothers
carry us down to the shoreline
like a promise, a blessing
and a damnation. And we never
forget the taste of salt water.

One for sorrow,
Two for mirth.
a pinch of marrow,
some baby teeth.

Three for a funeral,
Four for birth.
Tell a lie,
weave a wreath.

Five for heaven,
Six for hell.
a cup of liquor
down it goes.

Seven for the devil,
his own self.
And then we sit here
counting crows.

You said lay down your weapons and I laid myself
across the threshold of your door.
I have come here sharp and honed, with my mouth
full of battle hymns and holy words
for you to surrender to. I lay
my arms down for you to pick up, I strike when
you’re distracted to get to the heart of the matter.
We’re both down. Your pillow sheet a white flag
we ignore.

You said lay down your weapons and I laid myself
across the threshold of your door.
I have come here sharp and honed, with my mouth
full of battle hymns and holy words
for you to surrender to. I lay
my arms down for you to pick up, I strike when
you’re distracted to get to the heart of the matter.
We’re both down. Your pillow sheet a white flag
we ignore.

My Patreon is Patreon.com/CecilieK and will give you access to my back catalogue of poetry.

My hashtag here is #corvusrobotica for my free poetry, likewise my old archive is ceciliewriteswords.tumblr.com