Probably not as funny as I think I am
Insta @chloe_j_writes
Abstract When was the last time you were Home Alone-ing it through the airport? Barefoot? Sprinting for your life towards a gate that turns out to be wrong? For me it was this morning. I’m not quite sure my dignity has recovered; I mean my type A, over-planning high anxiety self had gotten my family to the airport over two hours before our flight departed, which for me was cutting it close. My family insisted it was plenty of time. Which means I now have an ace-in-the-hole I-told-you-so.
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Wander
I have always killed my succulents. I’m told I over water them- apparently, you can love a thing too much; love it, in fact, to it’s death.
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Poets
almost missed my self- imposed deadline. I wonder, am I enough yet?
I love you best in your death throes. Those fleeting few moments you cling, in resplendence, to survival. Seduction in a thousand shades.
the shadow people sit on their porch heedless of the season’s temperament. their murmurings drift down to me like a spell,
long dwelt I, forlorn, in the desert places, these cruel desolation lands. / I blamed the cacti, the sand-swept boneyards, in which
I. I have a way with language, according to my mother. I borrow and unravel the tongues of the far-away people. My greatest skill, though,
I beat the frozen ground, rended it with my stone fists but it couldn’t let me out / into the light of the gilded rays,
tally the burdens, steady, mundane vexations; they are proof of life.
How many bullets must run through the sieve? Shot in haste, hatred, shot in apathy, Catching, as they tumble, in children’s teeth,
It’s all there in the title: ‘A Poem a Day for the Month of May.’ That’s the plan. Not that anyone asked me to explain myself; this piece is more to keep me motivated. To remind me why I decided to try this now. Hint—it’s not just because ‘day’ and ‘May’ conveniently rhyme. Though that’s a plus.
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Journal
Brush off the tear and pretend I’m fine; you’ll pretend to believe me, How sweetly we lie, just you and I, Deception-shrouded captivity.
