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 Aug 2017 Chloe Christian
Seema
He was a lonely boy
Always fixing a broken toy
Dirt covered his face
Old shoes with no lace
But he wore them today
It was his sisters birthday
And he was fixing her doll
Someone gave a sudden call
Which left him in tears
Then came his darkest fears
His mother's voice shouting
Crying, his sense undoubting
He pretended not to hear
It was a special day of the year
He was going to see her
At the foot of the hill, afar
She lived there alone
In the cold, under a tombstone
Last year, he planted flowers
When bloomed, he sat there for hours
Today he's got her another gift
Her favorite doll that came adrift
By a narrow creek nearby
He always wondered why
His beautiful sister got taken away
Far to be buried, where she lay
Alone, along the plain meadows
Where lived now the shadows
Of those dead, buried in ground
Where huge raintrees surround
He picked her favorite flowers
And walked towards the stone towers
There a flowery grave waited
To be visited and weeded
After done with clearing
He sat there grieving and tearing
Telling her stories of his life
How often he's threatened with a knife
But with a smile, he promised to be brave
As he curled up, beside his sisters grave...

©sim
Can you picture this :)
 Aug 2017 Chloe Christian
Dharker
The day after
When the tears have all come out
The nearest sting
Lingers on with the pain
of mourning
Our minds race
as we allow time
to heal the disclosure
of how you left
Letting you go on
That was your own
request
Nothing can change
what you did
the day before
I remember sitting with my legs crossed
at an empty parking lot with you.
Burning our lungs,
sharing our deepest secrets at 3am
while I rest my head
on your shoulder that cold summer night.
I sang along our favorite songs
and you wished that time stopped
so we could still be together.

But alas,

You are still too damaged.
You think too much.
You are too practical.
You are not yet ready for anything.

And I’m left confused
and angry
and frustrated
and a little bit hurt, I guess.

So here we are again,
so here we go again.

Who would have thought
that we would actually
burn even faster
than our cigarettes?

                                                    ­                        
 — apbq
 Jul 2017 Chloe Christian
April
'The smoke might burn my lungs
but the feeling is worth it
isn't it?'
she asks me

'because feeling anything
is better than feeling nothing

and watching the clouds beside you'
she reckons 'is better than
thinking of them alone

because I rather feel agony
see despair
wallow in grief
than just sit alone and be numb

uncertainty already took one person from me'
she tells me
then she grabs my hand tight
and she says
'I want to be uncertain together'

and to that
I can't think of a word
but I know pulling her tight
is enough tonight
July 29th 2017
 Jul 2017 Chloe Christian
moziq
Gather round boys and girls it’s story-time and I have a tale to tell. Once upon a time there was a girl. This girl did not know love, she didn’t know how to smile, she thought of laughter as a folktale and pain a reality. This girl gave life to rain forest, her irises the clouds swollen with her untold sorrows.
One day the girl who knew nothing but sadness met a boy. This boy was wonderful. This boy was the icing on the disaster and trauma truffle cake, the cherry on the suffering and shame banana split. He was the sun shining above the eye of the hurricane. To put it simply he was magic.
He introduced her to living. Showed her what it was like to fly, what it was a was like to breath above water. Then he introduced her to his fist. No longer flying but floating, she went from the sea to space trading drowning for suffocation. He trapped her in his gravity and tricked her into thinking she was weightless. Told her she wasn’t worthless as long as she had him, that she was made to be nothing without him. This boy turned her into a fraction of herself, and he was the dominator. This boy turned her face from brown, to red, to blue, to black, to purple, her body a rainbow featuring the colors of his anger. She became the canvas to his finger painting. He the master and she the puppet. He always pulled her strings to hard no matter what she said.
The girl grew tired. She didn’t have a choice she told herself, because if she did why would she choose to be a shell of the woman she once was. Her heart retreated and her smile vacated and her peace of mind took a long walk off a short pier. He destroyed her will. destroyed her spirits, destroyed hope. ***** the rain forest, he caused her to turn deserts into oceans, drizzles into storms, New York is now Atlantis. There is no happy ending to this story boys and girls. She is still in his gravity. She still suffocates. He still pulls her strings, and her smile has not returned. And I’m starting to think it never will.
I don't want to be your sun
I want to be the moon
Pale, faint,
You might not even notice me sometimes
But when you need me the most
When you are lost
I will be there
Having never left.
I finally felt myself slowly moving on from you
I put hope into this boy
this unknown boy
because finally for so long
I actually developed a crush on someone
but now I got my hopes up
because he doesn't feel the same
and it feels like my heart broke into a million pieces again
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