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chloie Apr 2021
soon the porch will be in shadows,
and my sunlight will be met
not by my hair or hopeful eyes
but by concrete walls instead.

and I fear I will have nowhere
but I won't go back inside.
as dreary as the porch will be,
I refuse the chance to hide.
chloie Jun 2020
vomiting hurts; it's too much work
so she swallows her tongue
and pretend it's candy.
chloie Jan 2020
i cloak myself in a blanket
we bought two years ago
fearing i didn't write enough
poems for you to read.
so what, then, will become of me
when you eventually leave?
chloie Sep 2019
something in my chest blooms
when you're with me
and i'm with you:
a flower,
a thunderstorm,

a heart, alive.
chloie Sep 2019
if the scribbles on my arm
are anything to go by,
messy and short of
telling the world
my version of life,
then call me crazy,
call me hopeless --
just trying to empty my guts
and leave behind some baggage.
where else do you go,
tell me, then,
how do you do it,
serenade life into submission?
because i've been a little shy.
been hiding in the shadows
and giving you the eye,
asking you in silence.
tell me, tell me,
where else do you go,
when there's no one
left to call home?
chloie Aug 2019
and when i'm half-awake,
with my phone pressed against my ear,
listening to your voice lulling me to sleep,
i swear we come face to face.
ankles touching,
hands tucked beneath our cheeks,
eyes connected,
hearts intertwining.

on different beds,
on the same page.

it'll do. darling,
it'll do.
chloie Aug 2019
maybe saying
too much
was the mistake
on my part;
ruined me
and explanation
ruins art.
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