Cecilie K @ceciliewriteswords - Tumblr Blog

A list of ghost thoughts

- I want to be touched again - I want to be touched - I want to be touched - I want to be touched - I want to touch - I want touch - I want to be again - I want again

A list of ghost thoughts

- I want to be touched again - I want to be touched - I want to be touched - I want to be touched - I want to touch - I want touch - I want to be again - I want again

#poetry #cecilie k #spilled ink

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Figs And Bruises

I dream of eating figs with the peel on, the flesh red and orange between my teeth. My knees haven’t had all their skin since the summer of 2018 when I fell down that hill behind the warehouses where I was slowly growing myself together. It felt like I was leaking out, the flesh red and orange, the skin purple and worn. I tear a fig open with my nails in my dream there is nothing subtle about what I want. Where I spill out. When I wake I look to my knees when I walk in a crowd, neck bent and hunger tightly coiled in my sternum. I dream of eating figs with the peel on, the flesh red and orange between my teeth. My knees haven’t had all their skin since the summer of 2018 when I fell down that hill behind the warehouses where I was slowly growing myself together. It felt like I was leaking out, the flesh red and orange, the skin purple and worn. I tear a fig open with my nails in my dream there is nothing subtle about what I want. Where I spill out. When I wake I look to my knees when I walk in a crowd, neck bent and hunger tightly coiled in my sternum.

ceciliewriteswords

Where do I put all this melancholic ache? I feel like a bookshelf stuffed too full of old notebooks. Everything is a memory I wish I was holding back then or with different hands. I remember having different names and languages without patchwork mending running down the whole of me. I am so big I’ve grown to accommodate even the years I didn’t want as they were happening they lie in me like small animals. Some days there’s not enough space in the bed for everyone I’ve become. - Small Animals

#spilled ink #poetry #the bones of the poet #ceciliek

I will be God then and abandon those who love me. Speak like Gods speak in riddles and commands. Bleed like Gods bleed in fruits and oceans. Love like Gods love in sacrifice, empty words, and petty bullshit. Be untouchable, be untouchable - Another Lover Leaves

#spilled ink #poetry #the heart manifesto

Figs And Bruises

I dream of eating figs with the peel on, the flesh red and orange between my teeth. My knees haven’t had all their skin since the summer of 2018 when I fell down that hill behind the warehouses where I was slowly growing myself together. It felt like I was leaking out, the flesh red and orange, the skin purple and worn. I tear a fig open with my nails in my dream there is nothing subtle about what I want. Where I spill out. When I wake I look to my knees when I walk in a crowd, neck bent and hunger tightly coiled in my sternum. I dream of eating figs with the peel on, the flesh red and orange between my teeth. My knees haven’t had all their skin since the summer of 2018 when I fell down that hill behind the warehouses where I was slowly growing myself together. It felt like I was leaking out, the flesh red and orange, the skin purple and worn. I tear a fig open with my nails in my dream there is nothing subtle about what I want. Where I spill out. When I wake I look to my knees when I walk in a crowd, neck bent and hunger tightly coiled in my sternum.

#spilled ink #poetry #cecilie k #the suitcase memoirs #the bones of the poet

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 .

The Poet Mourns / Cecilie K

#spilled ink #heartbreak #break up #poetry #writing

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Sisters / Cecilie K

#spilled ink #poetry #poets on tumblr #sisters

I formed my language around the outline of a city. You can see, if you squint, the horizon my words slither round. The neon signs lustre of the life I wanted to live. I grew up on the wrong end of a sunrise. Musty rooms and yellow wallpaper flickered in the light of computer screens, a horizon of screen blue. Yet I arrived in this future. The streets of my city all abandoned, the horizon of screen blue not a peace dove over the ocean, but a neon fire.

404 Future Not Found / Cecilie K

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Rocks/Cecilie K

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Forgiveness / Cecilie K

I tattooed this suitcase on my heart, this doorway on my ankle. I spoke the words, proclaimed sainthood baptised in train station coffee and placed plane tickets between my teeth like offerings. You call on a God often enough, they’ll find you, like foxes and a hen house. ‘There’s always somewhere other than here.’ I said, and I should have learnt by now; you tempt Fate, - she takes what she wants. Patron Saint of Doorways / Cecilie K

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Forgiveness / Cecilie K

#spilled ink #poetry #watercolour #break up poetry

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What love taught me. Grief is a Sunday afternoon and the words ‘I don’t know’ following ‘do you love me?’ like a hearse procession.

Grief / Cecilie K (via ceciliewriteswords)

#spilled ink #poetry #writing #break up

What love taught me. Grief is a Sunday afternoon and the words ‘I don’t know’ following ‘do you love me?’ like a hearse procession.

Grief / Cecilie K

#poetry #spilled in poetry #words #writing #heart break #break up

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