CC Ford

poet, artist and recovering subtweeter based in Glasgow, Scotland. all professional enquiries: [email protected]

[charlotte--ford]

i hold your face i tell you time isn’t linear and neither are people you’re not looking me in the eye the way you did last november when you said six months, six months to get on my feet, six months and this will all be fine, six months and it’s you and me, i swear it, i know it, i feel it, just six good months but time doesn’t work like that, and neither do people. you gave yourself too much to do and couldn’t start. i gave myself too much to do and only started you. i started poems, books, meals, a return to france holding your hand to exorcise a ghost and you would say six months, baby, like we weren’t three in already. time doesn’t work like that, apart from it does, so we keep the hourglass sideways, so we keep it in my pocket, so we shake it up when the grains of sand are minimal. i swear sometimes i see them clinging to the glass so i don’t give up, so i always see some left. i told you all we needed was a summer, a long stretch of sun, some friends and whatever money we could muster. you would have a space to grow in by then, a home not attached to the balance of another or the roots from whence you came. the months passed whether you were in them or not, and we both grew in different ways. i threw open my window and there you were. i called your name in the street and your arms were open. hours later, you told me you still weren’t ready, as if it would hurt. you couldn’t look me in the eye. you can never look me in the eye. i borrowed your words, didn’t i baby? i know. i know. i know.  time isn’t linear and neither are people. but you are close and i am close. all we needed was one good summer. all we needed was one good stretch of time. all we needed was to understand that the concept of ‘together’ was nothing like we were used to. you would do this if i were ready. if i told you right now that it was the right time. you would do this.  and baby you’ve never been so sure of answers to questions you’ve never asked. i smiled at your side and held your face and told you don’t be so sure

The Door To Dreams, Charlotte Ford.

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I know where my soul is. I am a woman, and a valley of blood.

D.H. Lawrence, from The Complete Works; “The Plumbed Serpent,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

You have to really be broken in order to be a poet. It’s a very bad thing to tell a young person, but it’s true. Poetry comes out of all the places where you break.

Alice Notley, from an interview conducted c. October 2015 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[charlotte--ford]

I'm so excited for your book *heart eyes*

I’d assume there will eventually be one. One of these days. 

[charlotte--ford]

You have such a beautiful mind, plus I may kinda love your accent!

Thank you, although I am slightly bemused as to how you've heard it. Either way, recordings of poems are coming soon to my instagram!

[charlotte--ford]

Lean Closer by Charlotte Ford

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

“Again and Again and Again,” by Anne Sexton

[charlotte--ford]

Excerpt from the upcoming "Give Up the Ghost"

[charlotte--ford]

I LOVE YOUR POEMS

Thank you! You can find me on twitter and instagram for additional poetry related nonsense and I have a new poem going up here tonight (hopefully)

[haleyincarnate]

Excerpt from the poem “LOW-KEY TENDER POET ON THE IMPORTANCE OF RECOGNIZING SOULMATES IN THE CONTEXT OF PLATONIC RELATIONSHIPS, or CHARLOTTE”, featured in Trista Mateer’s (@tristamateer) poetry collection, [redacted]

[charlotte--ford]

Charlotte Loves How Much This Looks Like Her and Also How She Owns That Exact Outfit

[charlotte--ford]

in the dark it is easy to make you listen, to press you against the wall and say in my mind, this is different, in my mind we don’t have to do this in the dark it’s easier in the dark, to do what we do. to cast light. to reflect each other. it’s easier in the dark to hide all these motivations and the way my hands shake. the light comes but we’ve brought it together, beckoned it each time to bring us to our temporary end. each night is a temporary palace. all palaces are temporary, darling, even the ones we build, even the ones we fill with smoke and all that arduous longing. in the dark, i seek you out, thumbs to jaw, mouth to mouth. in the dark, it doesn’t matter where my hands go or how they still the second they feel your skin. in the dark you don’t deny me. against the wall it is easy to say you’re all i’ve ever wanted and you know it, against the wall the poet can make you what she wants and take it too. it doesn’t matter anymore, not the wall or the darkness or how we’re undiscovered, not now the night is beginning to break. it doesn’t stay dark here for long. not like it used to. in my mind, you sling your jacket over my shoulders as first light dawns. in my mind, we’re walking home. in my mind, you light my cigarette as i pour our coffee and we watch the city come to life from six storeys up. you watch me as you watch the landscape, with those keen, weighted eyes. you pull my feet into your lap and tilt your head back to greet the day with the ease of a man who has lived this morning before. in the daylight, we have lived this a thousand times. in the daylight, we give the neighbours a show before you pull down the blinds. i tell you you’re all i’ve ever wanted and you don’t muffle my words. my mouth finds your shoulder and your skin tells me i’m home.

Night Call, Charlotte Ford. (via charlotte--ford)

[charlotte--ford]

in the dark / it is easy to make you listen.

[watchoutforintellect]

Marx: How does a poem come into being?

Sexton: Oh, that’s a terrible question! I don’t know. Sometimes you get a line, a phrase, sometimes you’re crying, or it’s the curve of the chair that hurts you and you don’t know why…what you’re doing is hunting for what you mean, what you’re trying to say.

Anne Sexton, from an interview with Patricia Marx featured in No Evil Star

[charlotte--ford]

in the dark it is easy to make you listen, to press you against the wall and say in my mind, this is different, in my mind we don’t have to do this in the dark it’s easier in the dark, to do what we do. to cast light. to reflect each other. it’s easier in the dark to hide all these motivations and the way my hands shake. the light comes but we’ve brought it together, beckoned it each time to bring us to our temporary end. each night is a temporary palace. all palaces are temporary, darling, even the ones we build, even the ones we fill with smoke and all that arduous longing. in the dark, i seek you out, thumbs to jaw, mouth to mouth. in the dark, it doesn’t matter where my hands go or how they still the second they feel your skin. in the dark you don’t deny me. against the wall it is easy to say you’re all i’ve ever wanted and you know it, against the wall the poet can make you what she wants and take it too. it doesn’t matter anymore, not the wall or the darkness or how we’re undiscovered, not now the night is beginning to break. it doesn’t stay dark here for long. not like it used to. in my mind, you sling your jacket over my shoulders as first light dawns. in my mind, we’re walking home. in my mind, you light my cigarette as i pour our coffee and we watch the city come to life from six storeys up. you watch me as you watch the landscape, with those keen, weighted eyes. you pull my feet into your lap and tilt your head back to greet the day with the ease of a man who has lived this morning before. in the daylight, we have lived this a thousand times. in the daylight, we give the neighbours a show before you pull down the blinds. i tell you you’re all i’ve ever wanted and you don’t muffle my words. my mouth finds your shoulder and your skin tells me i’m home.

Night Call, Charlotte Ford.

[tristamateer]

We’re both crying in my flat again but it’s not about each other. It’s about weakness. Yours and mine. Your ability to get on a plane and sleep in my bed. My ability to let you. How we touch and it means nothing; but we do it anyway. A force of habit like flicking the ash off a cigarette or removing your shoes by the door. I am the motion you go through when you can’t find another good bed to die in. Yours are the hands I want on my throat, but only when you’re gone. Only when they’re not really your hands. Just the memory of pressure.

Trista Mateer (via tristamateer)

[charlotte--ford]

I take honey in my tea after the sugar has run out. I stack your mug back into my cupboard. I leave a tray of bacon to cool. I fold the sheets. I remember. I forget again. The honey is solid and I struggle with it, day after day. I tell myself to buy sugar, but don't step foot out of the door. It isn't so bad, I think. I can get it next time. I remember. I forget again. The notches of your spine, your hair through my fingers, your mouth. Your mouth. The poems I wrote about your mouth. The poems I wrote after your mouth. I take honey in my tea because the sugar bowl is empty and all I taste is your mouth. I remember. I forget again.

Charlotte Ford

[tristamateer]

How are you and Charlotte? (not trying to be nosy or anything, just... Concerned? Hoping everything is going well!)

I am a living Depression Meme, Charlie is ethereal. Same old, same old. I suspect you’re more interested in how we are “together,” which is as fine as any two people can be who are 1. not dating and 2. separated by an unforgiving ocean.

[charlotte--ford]

Reblogging this for the people in my asks who are also “concerned” that we have broken up, despite us never being together, save for that one time we stayed up all night whilst I read you Siken.