I write this on paper
Because words are too hard
Thy bring back the memories
That I wish were gone

I write this on paper
"Coping", I guess
My go-to source
For feeling my best

I write this on paper
Maybe one day you'll see
That I write this on paper
Because its killing me

I'd say:
**** 'em
but that's not my character.

My character is to worry
and overthink
about things out of my hands and up to
Fate.

Fate is a funny thing;
it's cruel
but also caring - at times
and I guess we weren't meant to be,

'Meant to be' is a
construct
anyways. Is there really
only one person out there
that you're fated to be with?
'Cause I find it hard to believe

Hard to believe like
you and I
were 'meant to be'. Fated
to cross paths and fall in love
at least I think it was love-
but who really knows?
Maybe that's why I'm indifferent

I'm indifferent because- while
for me it really was love
my first everything- you
said it too easily. And
love is never easy
it's messy like;
well...
Fate or 'meant to be'.
There's really nothing I can do

Nothing I can do to fix this
roller-coaster disaster on steroids,
but that's over exaggerating,
'cause I don't know why
but I'm ok;
with Fate dividing us. Since we weren't
'meant to be' in this
mess, love. And that's fine,
it's ok.
Now you're too far away

Too far away both metaphorically
and literally. There's
a gap
that's impossible to cross
without Fate there to back us up
when we've gone over that ledge
and crossed that line. We aren't
meant to be- to go back
is impossible like love. So
I hope you're ok, are you fine? I
don't want to hurt you
but
there's no fixing this.
Without making it worse.

So I bide my time

fate says
we aren't 'meant to be'
love is too complicated
so i'm indifferent- to protect myself from
the pain that comes with my inability to do anything to
bridge the metaphorical and literal gap between us

So I bide my time

Who is the angel
Who found you living lifeless
The angel that never seems to break
The angel that stands beside you

Who is the angel
Who gives you life
and always wipes your tears?
The angel that sews your broken heart
The angel that fights your fears

The strongest bridges appear unbreakable
But they withstand the greatest stress
and bulletproof glass will take the shots
But only just so many,
and you might not see it coming
but it will break when it is bombed

The angel will always take your chains
And rest them on their shoulders
They'll smile at you when you're okay
And tell you not to worry

But don't forget, the angel is human too
Despite their amazing strength,
and even though they never cry
Their eyes mask the blood of warzones

The angel will always take your chains
Even when they cannot hold them
And the angel will do so until they break,
so that you can always smile

So go find the angel that never cries
Hug them, and say I love you
And you could be the angel
when the bulletproof is bombed

No cloud dares pollute this sky,
Then suddenly those winds at home climb so high,
Sea so fresh and desert so dry,
They meet and feed the cacti here, but ignore the needles on my eyes
They shouldn't make me cry.

Sparkling waters, sands so bright
With a million ******* clouds in Skies
Sit, be still and let the timeless force
Crush this sea of thorns and all but native flora die

I'm just attempting to manage my emotions,
I'm doing the best I can,
Mostly I think I'm doing very ******* well,
Or maybe I just want all these "professionals" to be wrong.

Occasionally I stop and remember:
"Of course they're right Chloe,
How can you possibly say you don't have deep psychological issues right now?"
But since these dissociative symptoms have started:
I've felt amazing mentally.

I must admit that before that,
I felt pretty bad - bad enough to actually admit and ask for help,
But doesn't that show how I'm "dealing with it",
I don't like people telling me my body's dealing with my psychological feelings physically,
I express myself all the **** time,
And they don't know anything!

I'm sick of the psychoanalysis,
And then them claiming they don't psychoanalyse
On that website they keep telling me to revisit.
They seem to think if you talk about your problems -
They just disappear!
And if you educate yourself on conversion disorders -
The symptoms will finally go away!
I could go through that website,
A thousand times and I will still
Remain to have spasms, tremors
And weakness.

I am managing my thoughts and feelings at the moment,
But that doesn't help me manage my physical symptoms:
They are literally debilitating and unmanageable,
Only they tell me I need to "accept it",
This whole poem is showcasing me doing exactly that.
As many times as I deny thinking that this is a functional illness,
I match referring to it as just that.

It's funny that I write so much,
And almost worship the skill
Yet I haven't felt the need to write about what's been happening for months now.
The reason I finally am in this moment,
Was actually because
I think I'm starting to feel things again,
And now I'm wondering if I've been pushing all of it back,
Which is exactly what they want to hear,
So they can say "your body's expressing it because your mind can't manage it, you need to express and deal with this."
You know what?
I really do wonder what the hell they think that "coping" is!

Maybe they would just say,
I'm avoiding my feelings and memories right now,
By coming to my notes section to seek some peace,
As what they would like to think of as a facade,
All comes crumbling down.

The waves of intensity belong to me,
And as much as I don't always enjoy them,
You can leave them all alone because they're mine,
And you can't tell me how or if I'm handling them properly.
Sometimes I just feel like this is who I am,
This is what I'm prone to,
And if you want me to just get over it then fine,
I didn't seek you out in the first place
So if you want to think that I'm over it,
Then that's okay with me.

How funny is it,
that tomorrow is your birthday,
And you're not here to celebrate?

How odd is it,
That you, beyond life
seem to have such an effect on those of us
that still have to wake up in the morning?

How crazy is it,
that this time last year,
bubbly and bright,
You would wake up, another year old?

This year is different

You're gone
gone- what a funny word.

This year, your birthday will be full of tears,
rocked with an abyss of depression and guilt.

This year is one to feel lonely

How funny is it,
that tomorrow is your birthday,
And you're not here to celebrate?

It is something I can't tell anyone,
At first I thought it was fun,
Realizing now that I have a problem,
And it pains me to admit the ruin...