Cloe C

Cloe C Poems

It is not my fault my poetry is heavy. Like a book left outside in the rain. And when you go to pick it up, your arms give out because you cannot carry it. From the pages saturated and soaked in water. See I tried to make happy poems except it turns hopeless instantly. Writing about how I'm on a beach making sand castles. But except I feel the sorrow from drowning in the waves of the ocean. Or how the sky bends with blues that I feel so deeply in my bloodline. How the sun is something that I can never feel. I tried to write something happy like a carnival except I relate it to back to a rollercoaster ride. Feeling the highs and lows of sadness and grief. I tried to write about art except when I see always see a canvas filled with emotions of pain and terror. I write about being in a meadow filled with flowers except I stumble upon a rose and it pricks me as I bleed and bleed and bleed. I'm cursed with seeing the negative side of everything.
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'The worst type of cry, is the silent cry. The way I curl up in a ball. With my arms wrapped around my knees. Grabbing and holding so tightly as I struggle to find courage to wake up tomorrow morning knowing it will be exactly like today. I grab my legs like I want someone to hold me, tight and suffocating, never letting go. Just as my depression holds me, always reminding me of every failure, every person I have ever hurt. These thoughts follow me every second of my day. This cry is a cry for help, only it is silent because words can never truly express the years of pain behind my eyes. No one will ever truly love me. Love every flaw. So I learn to fall in love with my depression because it was the only true person that ever fully excepted me. And depression has always been there for me. The countless showers against my bathtub, the imprint my body has left behind. The countless days screaming into my pillows and sobbing so hard I can not feel the back of throat any more. Who was there for me in those times and loves me still, depression. So when I say I'm fine, I mean I'm in love with my illness because its always been there, but I feel this way because of it. The restless nights I stay up comforted by the empty side of my bed, so I talk to depression about every problem. And I pick apart every single detail about my day, how I could have done better and why I will always not be good enough. I thought I learned how when my mom left to turn lonely into busy, so when I tell my friends I can't go to that super fun party tonight because I am busy, I mean I plan on binge watching The Simpson's eating my feelings, with nothing to show for except an empty gallon of ice cream and a spoon. And I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you when you were crying over your breakup, I was just fighting every demon that told me to end my life tonight and you look at me like I'm selfish. Yes im selfish, if selfish is trying to make it through another day of living, I am so sorry I'm selfish. Why i can't talk to you is because you make me feel like a burden, and then you put your problems on me again. So you say go to therapy. Therapist look at me like I'm crazy as I try to pour 15 years of trauma into one hour. Im sorry there will never be enough words that will ever express the way my mind tricks me into making another cut. Its just one more it says. As my life goes down the drain just as the blood drains from my arms the water drains from my bath. Leaving me in my bathtub once again with only tears.'
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Artists see everything as an open slate. I guess I am an artist. After all I draw pictures everywhere. Happy pictures defined with a red outline. Sad pictures that turn to white visible memories that never go. Every part of my body is a canvas. Every picture I make, never leaves my body. This blank canvas is running out of room to draw, so I write over other pictures. Summers are hard as critics notice my beautiful art work and judge. They only see messy lines while I see years of pain and sorrow. Every story is written with blood, books filled to the brim and pages saturated and soaked. Every page reminds me beauty has a consequence. Some times life doesn't turn out as desired. Sometimes hills turn into mountains and sometimes nights can be lonely sleepless and a fight for your life. But its all worth it, for every scar still shows, every piece of this canvas has been filled. I have died so many deaths and so many of my deaths my funeral was unattended. Now every time I plan on drawing I fight. I fight for the blood to stop flowing. I fight my canvas will be filled enough that it satisfies me. I fight that pain turns to peace. But I will only ever be a canvas. A canvas that can be filled more. But one day I will find an ocean that sings so beautiful that it masks every scream I have made in front of it. I will find the drawers that hide all the sharp things. And on that day the critics will stop judging and learn to love and appreciate my artwork.
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the phrase cry me a river of tears is never taken seriously. I don't just cry rivers I cry oceans, I cry all seven oceans because sadness is something that consumes me. grief fills my body and flows through my bloodline. on the countless trips to the hospital they put an IV through my arm filled with tears. my only comfort zone is my bathtub. the cold porcelain flooring against my naked body. having warm water flow over the top of my head like a waterfall, a waterfall I've cried so many times. the indent of my body will always remain on my bathtub. the indent consumes my body and holds me so tightly I do not feel the need to move. I feel so comfortable here because it is the only time someone ever holds me. the warm waterfall turns cold and I feel like I'm in my heart. warm surrounded by fluid makes me cold to the bone. I peel myself off of the indented bathroom floor. I lay in bed for hours. my head against my pillow and my body against memory foam mattress that absorbs my body ad gravity pulls me down so I cannot move even if I tried. my tears flood my pillows along with muttered screams and sobs. blood stains my blankets along with cigarette burns. I find myself crying an ocean, except the ocean is absorbing my body and I find myself falling so deep in the ocean and I cannot breathe anymore. my lungs feel like they're about to burst like a grenade and my heart is about to give out. the pitter patter my racing heart as it gives its last bout. it surrenders as the waves of the ocean try to mask my carcass. if you ever need me I will be in the sand of the ocean as it is my new bed. the layers of seaweed that will soon form over my lifeless body. I am the only remains from a skeleton sunken city. I am a graveyard that no one comes to visit. my hollow chest feels like a tree that no one notices in a forest. my fingers feel like carrots at the end of a salad bowl no one wants to eat. my blood feels like the last sip of a coffee that no one will drink. so I cry over my unwanted remains. I cry another ocean and find myself in an endless cycle. hopeless and never changing.
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'It's been 5 years since I met you. And you are my best friend, we've been through everything together you've never left my side. What i mean by my side in the hospital bed when I was 13. Trying to explain why you led me to the brink of ending my life. And I defended you because you are all the I have and all that I ever will have. You were there for me in class. With razor blades underneath the desk, holding a tissue to bleeding out wrist. You were there for me when I was in PE in the locker room cutting open my breast. And you were there for me that one day I was scared to death when I was 15 because I thought i went to deep because it wouldnt stop bleeding. You were there for me when my own mother told me I never attempted suicide. You were there for me and all of the summers we have been through together. Where people wouldn't stop judging me. And I'm still stuck in hoodies and long sleeves in the summer. In fear of being judged again.You were there for me going to summer family vacations when my family was worried about me because of all the marks YOU have left on my body forever. I don't love you. You cause me pain and teach me to hate myself. You are an addiction, a lifestyle. You turn all my hopes and dreams in into 'good enough' and 'oh well'. You criticize me every second. You always tell me that it is not enough and you urge me, you beg me to make enough cut, to lose more blood. You told me that if I cut my legs enough, gravity would cut me free and I would go through the atmosphere. And I hate you because I'm stuck with these scars you left on my body forever. You are never truly gone because you haunt me every second like a ghost. You are a parasite that won't go away and there is no way for me to fight you because I am too weak from years of torment from you. And you can never take a hint when to leave. I am a host of a party. A party that I did not make, a party I didn't even attend.I am a party that you forced my appearance to show anyways. I don't know how to say no to you because loving you is all that I have ever known. And sometimes I like my scars because they give me character and define me. They they give me a story to read at night. I'm sorry that we have a love hate relationship but you've caused me torture. But you also relieve the torture you caused. You gave me alternatives and you helped my racing mind, you helped put me to sleep at night. You are the folds in origami that make it have structure. You are the melody in music. You are the wind on a hot summer day. You make me feel like I have a dog on your leash. I don't want be to your bitch. Release me from this chain, that I didn't ask to be tied up to. You make me feel like I am a spider caught in your web. You have a magnetic pull that I can not break. And it's true that you never leave my side, but that's the worst part because I want to break free from you, I want to be my own individual.
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6.

I'm sorry I lied and I said I was busy, I was busy just not in a way most people understand. I was busy calming a racing heart. I was busy trying to stop the fountain coming from my eyes. I was busy silencing irrational thoughts. I was busy hugging myself telling myself it was going to be okay. And I was busy fighting the demons that told me I wasn't worth it. So I'm sorry I lied, but this is my busy. And I will keep being busy because anxiety decides that it's a ghost and it needs a body to possess. It feels the need to have feeling, to want, to need. Except I'm the unwilling host that is supposed to invite anxiety in. Except I don't I don't want this, any of this. I couldn't even keep a log of all the nights I went restless, all the invitations I turned down because I was too afraid to leave the comfort of my house. And all the emptiness I feel because I'm drained from being uneasy. I feel I am drowning in my own tears. I can not breathe and it feels my lungs will explode. When did I stop becoming a person and started becoming a symptom. I wake up, but I don't get up. I stay in bed until my bladder is at the brink of exploding. I neglect food because its just a mess and I'll need to eat later again anyways. I go back to my bed, brush my teeth? Why bother, ill stay in bed some more. What movie can I binge watch next. I don't even like this movie but it keeps me away from my thoughts. Im so sick and tired of being mentally sick and tired. I have no motive, I feel empty. I don't even have blood in my body, I have no air in my lungs, im just skin. Nothing else. No wonder I can't get out of bed because I have no muscle from laying and fighting demons all day. Every time I get up, gravity pulls me right back down. I can not think straight, I have no concentration and my mind can only wonder into ways and reasons I'm not deserving
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I make symphony's with only a bow, no violin is required. Although my music is still loud and vibrant. You can feel the vibrations from miles away. You can feel it in your blood flow. You can get moved by my music and be pulled right in. You can get lost in the moment. Your thoughts will start racing and erasing everything you know. My music is so powerful and moving that it will persuade you to follow every word I say, every note I make, every chorus that there is. It will suck you up and sweep you off your feet, pull you through the wind like there is no gravity. You will sore through the night sky and sleep directly under the stars. You will go farther than any person has ever gone before. You will be caught in the motions and have no way to escape it. My music will take you on rollercoasters. It will take you so high and then drop you to the lowest you have ever been before. It's seems appealing at first but then it turns drastically. But the highs are always followed by the lows. Except the lows are so deep. The lows are deep in the ocean where you cannot breathe. Your lungs will burn and your blood will freeze in your body. The lows go farther than equator. You will feel all the lava in the entire world burning at your skin. But after that we will go back to the highs. After a while the highs will get lower and lower. Eventually the lows get so low that there is no coming up you are stuck in the slump. You will be brainwashed by my symphonies. After this I will turn you into a student and teach you all of my ways. You will become independent. Then you will no longer need me you will be so addicted to these rollercoaster rides you will do them yourself. We will teach you to deny any help you will ever get. Mask the pain with smiles and say that your cat did it. You will be awake all hours of the night tearing up your skin. Your legs will be so cut that gravity will release you from the earth. Your arms will be destroyed and you will wear long sleeves everyday. You will start shutting the world out and your friends will all leave because they weren't there to begin with. Your family will cry and worry. But your addiction will get so uncontrollable you will not care. Then comes the day when you first get stitches. You will make the stupidest lie in the universe and deny every single mark there is on your body. They will send you to therapy and you will waste hours in a small room lying about everything. Lying about how you felt so special about when your family finally started caring about you. How you felt like the only person in the universe when you were on rollercoasters. One day they will force you to stop. Then all your feelings come back and the rollercoasters stop. After a while you get sad so you decide to join the rollercoaster and you feel excited and thrilled all over again. Then the low's come and you feel so familiar you get sucked back into the pattern. There is no escape.
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I sleep. No, I wander. I wander through hopeless memories. All the blank pages in my mind. Blank isn't the right word, blank is white and unfinished. What I mean by blank is filled to the brim with pure nothingness. pitch black like every time I close my eyes. I close my eyes and cannot move. I can't move not because I'm asleep, its because sleep is what I am not. My conscious self is on earth, my body is on another planet. I can not move I feel stuck in blackness. This is how most nights feel. Either this or I go on walks to sooth my restless mind. Walks they are-
only my mind is not present and I can't control where I go, I can't remember where I go, im mindless. Im walking on an ocean. An ocean of happiness I can't baptize myself in. The ocean gets more wet except the ocean is filled with sweat, sweat from running from all my problems. Exhaustion fills my body. That is the pure moment I realize I am asleep, the wetness is beads of sweat on my forehead from the 16th night terror this week.
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Those butterflies I get, fill up my whole body and when I try to speak most of the time, I fumble with every word I say and forget everything I was thinking. Those butterflies always found a way out, maybe they were meant for you. See my brain has somehow been hardwired into the thought of you. From reality morphed into how you seem to make each moment precious. How every second with you is like a dream, only a dream I won't forget even if I were hypnotized because you are unforgettable. The way you make seconds into hours and hours into eternity only with an end result of me wanting an eternity with you.
I used to fear falling in love. I thought of it as a person tripping, falling into a pitch dark well where you cannot see a bottom. Never knowing when your body will hit the water… you fall and, on the fall, you feel scared, shaking, cold, new to the experience… Maybe this is how falling in love is…. You're like the wind… you have the ability to sweep me off my feet and make me trip, to make me fall, fall in love. Maybe I can't see my future or when I will hit the bottom of the well…but maybe this is because there is no bottom… the well and true love are both endless… Yes, maybe the fall is sudden, and you can't see where you are going, and yes maybe it is a bit scary, but knowing that you were the one who swept me off my feet I know that when I eventually hit the bottom of the well, you will catch me, just as you inspired the fall.
I used to fear what happens after you fall out of love with a person… but I now know that true love, is endless. You see even after you fall into the well of love… it is not so scary anymore… I now know that at the bottom after I'm head over heels and have fallen, you did indeed catch me at the bottom… Yes, the well came to an end, but the experience did not. See now I'm not alone anymore. You inspired a fall so that therefore you can catch me when I fall… Now you have me and we can continue the fall together… Now it is not a fall… Now it is a journey.
Throughout this journey, we create a life together… Now every high and low point I will not be alone… I will have someone to comfort me. As my breath becomes shallow but yet rapid… the pitter-patter of my heart as it sings out symphonies. These symphonies work their way up from my heart and to my lips, through your lips and down your heart… As our lips combine our two hearts as one.
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'Sometimes silence is all that you can hear. Not because there is no sound but because you are panicking so much you cannot hear anything. You are trapped inside of your own mind, inside of your own body. and you feel like a ghost, possessing a vessel. You are walking on an ocean. But you don't fall in. you don't make a splash because you're not even there. And if you don't make a sound you don't exist. The only sound coming from your body is the shallowness of your breathe from the hollow chest it comes out of. The pounding beat of your heart. A rhythmatic drum that doesn't stop beating. Only you want the beating to stop. the beating is too loud it feels like you are being beaten by the drumstick. And suddenly when you're not there you are there you are the center of attention. Being abused by a endless torturer. You're only needed when the drum has to be beat. And then afterwards you're off again and you don't matter anymore. The metallic taste of blood will soak and remain in your mouth for the remainder of your life. And your brain will always hold on to this memory in this moment of time. Now you will sit on a couch in a small room trying to confess these feelings from years of torture and misuse to a complete stranger in only an hour. One hour every week cannot express this. So you try to find the right words. the right words of being a small ant in the palm of a child's hand as they smush you and laugh about it. Moving on to the next ant. Treating you as nothing. Your dead carcass will be smashed again. into the ground, into the dirt and you will never have a proper burial. You try to find the right words of how you feel like a flower with pesticide on it. Slowly absorbing the fluid and dying. This is the slowest death you can possibly imagine and it hurts tremendously. And the gardener everyday puts pesticides on you more and more until you die. The burning is all you can feel. As it eats you up. You try to find the right words of being a monster waiting under a bed. For night to come and to be able to have a purpose on this planet. except the day time feels so long and treacherous that you cannot wait until night comes. But then you're only needed for couple of hours maybe even minutes because you're point to be alive is still not valid. You try to find the right words like how you are a parking validation. Only valid for couple of hours until then you're stamped and thrown away. and then the paper isn't isn't even recycled it's thrown away like trash. Crumpled and disposed just like the tissues you use in your therapists office every time you cry. But every time you try to speak and express how you feel, you get scared because you don't have enough time. So why even try to express how you feel. So you sit there in the silence, only silence feels deadly and reminds you of how you trap yourself inside of your head moments before you are abused and discarded.'
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The Best Poem Of Cloe C

Hopeless

It is not my fault my poetry is heavy. Like a book left outside in the rain. And when you go to pick it up, your arms give out because you cannot carry it. From the pages saturated and soaked in water. See I tried to make happy poems except it turns hopeless instantly. Writing about how I'm on a beach making sand castles. But except I feel the sorrow from drowning in the waves of the ocean. Or how the sky bends with blues that I feel so deeply in my bloodline. How the sun is something that I can never feel. I tried to write something happy like a carnival except I relate it to back to a rollercoaster ride. Feeling the highs and lows of sadness and grief. I tried to write about art except when I see always see a canvas filled with emotions of pain and terror. I write about being in a meadow filled with flowers except I stumble upon a rose and it pricks me as I bleed and bleed and bleed. I'm cursed with seeing the negative side of everything.

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