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I never really learned how to just like something, I always let it consume me.

Welcome to my mind, showing you my own perspectives of life through different phases and feelings. Throughout my life, my passions have never stuck. I love one thing today and something completely different the next. Here beholds the one passion that’s never faded, to be so passionate in it that it creates an obsession within me, feeding my soul.

Enjoy.

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I want to give my soul to these mountains

Weep until I become part of their rivers

Talk to them until I have nothing else to say

Lay my body down to rest until I fade away

I’ll find a nearby tree for a walking stick

And I’ll travel high and low until I find it

Until I find the coyotes and the moon

Until I no longer feel the thought to think of you

Ill become someone else someone better

I’ll learn about jagged edges and become wiser

I’ll turn for a glimpse at the deer who looks back at me

And only then will I behold some kind of peace

I can write in this book, and strum a guitar

I can even walk for miles and miles

But it’s the returning, it’s the words that don’t leave my mouth

It’s those things that always make me feel left out

I pass the beauty of the ridges and valleys

I look on with love and point my finger out

I capture with a quick noise and return on my way

But I don’t wish for this to be the only way

And when I look up all I hear is

Girl, don’t you worry about a thing

Or I hear words of what’s done to my eyes

I hum along as though the rest will sing along

But I am lost, I am far gone

I feel I need to search it out, I need to leave this ground

The ground on which I stand and exclaim

And while I waste away, I must break away

Do you recognize me too, moose?

If I stayed on that beach that lay the prints of both our feet

If I sat and watched just as you do the same

Would you let me, for that moment, be the same

And while the mountains and glaciers weep

As if we give all we can when we finally meet

And when the same seeps from me do you look on to me

Do you too say “look how beautiful” as you look at me?

Landscapes painted by the sun and clouds

My highest regard is for the quacking aspen

Turned over for rumbles and rain

And of those the surface and the earth connect beneath and between

I am in the dirt, I am the same as those in the earth

My roots lift and turn to legs

My ribs harden and then sometimes cave

But I am lucky, I am lucky I say

That the greatest love of my life

Is of those with no legs nor ribs

Of those who tell me when the storm begins

And take care of me with their painted hills,

When I have nothing else but with them to speak, and give.

Although,

I do wish, even secretly to myself, from myself,

that my greatest love,

could be of flesh and blood.

could be someone with legs for roots and ribs for hugs.

And I am sad you see,

all the time.

And

I still love you.

I have it all in me.

It’s been holding the weight of the world.

August 11th, 2025.

I think it’s hard because,

I see this little girl inside of me, and sometimes she disappears, like she’s gone forever, like I’ve outgrown her.

I look at these girls, in these movies, and they have this innocence, this light that naturally gleams in a soft and wonderful way. They smile nicely, they interact as though they’re open to the world.

And I think to myself, I used to be that way, I know I was. I used to be self-conscious, shy, I used to smile with love, with my heart. I was awkward but I was open.

And I look at those girls on the tv, on the screen, and I wonder, have they not been hurt in this way yet? Have they not been damaged as I? Or are we just not alike?

This part of myself I’ve looked up to for so long, has seemed hardened. And as I think upon this light there is to gain again, I wonder, will it come with it? Or am I 27 now, am I responsible now, am I specific now, limited, closed off, afraid, hardened. That my baby deer camouflage has warn off, have my spots grown to one solid color.

I want to be free, I miss it. I wonder now, am I changed forever? Have these relationships I have gained, grown through, broken down through, have these changed me in ways that are final? Will I never skip again without remembering how hard I’ve fallen? Have my scrapes turned to scars that will never heal, or rather never be smooth, undamaged.

I used to not talk, I used to keep to myself. I was alone, and terribly lonely. But I did feel protected, I felt a sacredness within me without being known. I feel I could be how I was and no one could change me, because they never knew me to begin with, and they wouldn’t learn.

But now, now I’ve been known. Now I talk, now I express, now I have friends, some good, some not as much. Now I have all these witnesses, who have placed their perceiving hands upon me, shaping me into these things I don’t always agree with, nor do I want to be shaped, or held together in anyone’s image.

I miss when I felt like the sun, when I felt less preyed upon, when I was naive, when I was able to be naive. I miss when love felt like it could be anything, when it could be everything I’ve dreamed. I miss believing.

And I think that girl is still in me, the one that’s wide eyed and looks up to the sky, even if I now look to my feet. The one who’s curious, and full of wonder, wonderful. But that’s the beauty of moving, you start all over, you release the hands that once formed you in these ways you’ve outgrown, that your skin bleeds through their grip. And now, you can be anything, you can be you, and people will see you, because they haven’t seen anything differently. It’s not that I want a disguise, or to change my innards in ways that are untrue. It’s that time has clouded the ability to be seen as I am today, and rather I am seen for the damaged parts of what I once was.

I want to be free,

free,

free.

I want to skip, and laugh, and dream, I want the stars to return to my eyes, and I want to trust, to be able to trust. It’s always been the missing piece to my dreams, the most necessary part to keep things together, the ability to trust, the sanctuary of trust, the truth, what’s true.

Tell me I am still that little girl,

the one I was before I was changed, before I was ever broken in any way. The one who was who they were before they knew there was anything different.

August 9th, 2025.

And I feel myself still here

I feel my essence, still exists.

That the love I have, the things that are reserved, still exist, for the person that truly loves me, that I’m meant to be with.

I just feel like it’s in the freezer

And that I’m not waiting by the fridge to take it out.

I know it won’t be now.

And I see myself as a shadow on the fence next to the recycling bin,

The reflection on davys side mirror.

And it’s hard to not be alone.

It’s hard to grieve and grow,

When everyone can see me.

I listen to Kurt Vile’s song “Stand Inside” and I think of how I want someone to feel that about me one day, I want to have that one day.

I’ve been writing a list of the person I want to share my life with.

And I feel within me, I’m ready to come home.

That I’m like an astronaut that’s been away for 27 years and I’m ready, I’m ready to come home.

And I know, I want my person to feel like camping, like the sun hitting the pines.

Will they meet me in bisbee?

August 2nd, 2025.

A Quick One Before the Eternal Worm Devours Appalachia

And how can I reason with you by speaking to the universe

By looking up and yelling to the sky

That I just want you to stop, I just want this to stop.

I’m being fucking chased and chased and chased.

I loved you ——-. I fucking loved you. And I have grieved, I have felt the imploding pain of it all until it seeps into every crack in my wall, every hole in my fucking head. Like sugar ants that devour every bit of food within my pantry, I don’t get to eat the things I’ve bought now. I don’t get to sit in a room and just grieve. I don’t get to just look forward to my things. I have to think about you, and not just for the past things, but for the future, when you’re in my space, like it’s not personal, like I can get away. It’s my home, why must I run? It’s my home, why must I be chased? It’s my home, please get away.

And I hate this.

I hate having to hate this, having to think negatively of you, to have my skin crawl at the thought of you. Because I loved you. Because I loved you. Because I loved you. Because I loved you. Because I loved you.

And the world, god it fucking chases too. I have to worry about being raped by some man who looks at me like hamburger meat while telling me these violent things that happen in his life. The man yelling out at the crosswalk on his bike, he left his shoes at my work, does he know he left his shoes, does he know what my car looks like now. I want to yell too. And it all happens as I pass, like street lights one by one on the lit freeway, like music in each persons passing car. Why is everyone weird with this storm. Why is everyone looking at me like that. Why are you coming. Why are you coming. Why are you coming.

And I have felt this, I have felt this so many times in my life. These tears flood the outside world until my walls crash and cave in, and I have to move, I have to swim, I have to float, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to have to survive.

Let me be.

All of you.

All of these things.

Just let me be.

I beg of you,

Please.

Because,

I loved all of you,

until every bit of me,

was consumed.

And why doesn’t anyone ever care for me. Why doesn’t anyone ever ask about the things that happened to me. If I’m the one who needs to be tucked in before I go to sleep. Why hadn’t anyone ever wanted to proudly love me, to do right by me. Why didn’t anyone ever have to clean up my mess, or ask me to do my best. Why don’t they ever listen to me, or ask me questions, or want to know about me. Why doesn’t anyone ever serve me. Why am I always the one to care, to give, to listen, to ask, to help.

I am so tired.

So I speak to the universe through my words, through my closed car doors parked in the alleyway, through my written words in ink, through this website no one reads.

And the things is, I don’t want them to, I don’t want you to. It fulfills this thing within me, where it’s another representation of me. Of being fully naked, fully out in the street, and no one sees me. That I am completely out there, and no one sees.

Let me out.

August 2nd, 2025.

4 days before my birthday.

July 28th, 2025.

And it’s not that I feel you are a bad person, or that I have any desire to give you words that would make you feel terribly. Because I am not angry, I do not believe you are bad. I am just completely, disillusionedly filled with the utmost sadness my body has ever carried for and from someone. And I am only left now, with these questions. And no matter how many I come up with, how many fill my head each day, how many different ways I put them together, the only question I’ll ever have, the only question I’ll never have answered,

why?

to so many things, from the beginning, to the unfoldment, to everything that’s happened after,

why?

and I will move forward each day, any way I can or know how, until one day, I no longer feel the need, or crave the answer,

why?

He knows not what he has done, please tell me, he does not. Fore I do not know what to make of it, I wouldn’t know. But I must ask, my love, why else would he do what he does? How could he not know? He is only following the path of what you once told carried the beasts of what you most feared. The path that lead you to leave, fore he would not rid it of those beasts. I told him I had foreseen, and no, Chloe, no you are wrong in what you’ve seen, there is absolutely nothing.

But as I follow my journey, through the hills and valleys, I find myself on mountaintops, and I can’t help myself but look far behind me. Distances that hold for me no mercy nor light. But they wait for me, I can feel, to just look upon thee, that it beholds and carries things I cannot unsee. The very things I feared, the very things I named, the very things told untrue, misconstrued, have seemed to only been words given for imagination of the cruel. Things of ideas on what to do.

And why? When I hold nothing but sadness for thee, the death to our dreams. That I still love you like I did then, the things I loved about you. Only I do not dream of your return, not as I once did. I cannot. But I still remember, before it all, what had lead to our downfall, the first time you told me you loved me. I still remember the nights you shared next to me, the times you had told me you fears and dreams. And how I still hold them close, for I cannot become the beast of your trail, I cannot even become a thorn of a rose. For your hands have bled enough, I know, and I never entered your life for any reason, other than to share with you, what’s most sacred of me. You may think I have done wrong, that I’ve abandoned you on a trail that was once beautiful, turned to great dangers. But I could not make you see, no matter how much I pleaded, that the great dangers were already seen by me. I was torn and bleeding. The breath from my lungs, as I lay, were leaving. I did not leave you,

I died.

July 22nd, 2025.

From the past...

Below are words from past writings, in a place I post things no one can see. The reason for the publication of these, are ultimately just to show… me. The things I feel and think, the things no one knows of, knew of.

And for some reason, it helps to bear my heart out to everything. It makes me free in that way. I’m out there, shown entirely. Regardless of whether I should or shouldn’t. Whether it’s weird or not. Because I don’t really care, because I care more than anything.

When did it become just a bunch of stuff in a room?

When the sanctuary starts to feel like a trap.

January 31st, 2025.

January 28th, 2025.

What happened to you?

I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I’m not sure if there ever was a time when I had potential. When things were looking up, an opportunity maybe.
I’m not sure if I’ve only had the illusion of something greater.
As a small child, with the dreams and the belief.
Did I ever have the potential
Or was I born a loser.
I mean that really.
Was I already going to lose, from the very beginning.
Because when I look at myself now, and think “what happened to you”
I can think of all of the misery in my life, all of the transformative moments through trauma and sadness, the changes of thought, illusion, belief, trust, the solidified pain.
But it wasn’t ever something new to me.
I felt it the moment air was invited into my lungs, the moment I cried from the harsh reality of the coldness of a hospital room.
It wasn’t about my mothers loving arms, or my dads loving eyes.
It was about the rest of the room,
The empty parts of it. That’s the space that filled me.

January 23rd, 2025.

I feel it in my bones
My veins
My muscles.
I feel it in my limbs
Like I’ve overworked and they tell me they can do no more
I’d like to be held
Just held
Held out of comfort
Comfort deriving from all the sadness I feel
All the sadness I am becoming
All the sadness I am
To be understood
For the way I feel
The feeling of wanting to decline, redact,
sink
I am sinking
With no boats around
No land in eyesight
And it is not wholly my choice
I’ve kicked
I’ve made my arms into butterflies,
Frogs.
I’ve tried resting, idling
I’ve started up again.
But I would not like to any longer
I want the fish to view me
The whales
The dolphins
The bottom feeders.
To lye my head on the seaweed bed.

January 13th, 2025.

And when I tell you,
I would just like to walk into the forest.
I do not mean go for a walk
I do not mean sight seeing, or returning once I’ve had a nice few hours
I mean let the forest swallow my body the way it does a dying fox, the way it embraces you into the ground, as a dead deer, a dead animal.
I would like to walk into the forest, and I would not like to return.
I would like to walk into the forest with nothing but my clothes that will swiftly wither from my body as well.
No shoes, nothing of comfort.
I want the forest to take my body as if I were a possession of it.
To be waiting for me upon my arrival, with vicious wolves and hungry bears. That at least I can feed the violence and the hunger, what’s natural, that at least something came from me.

December 24th, 2024.

I’m unsure
I feel painful
I’m not sure if that time took that part of me with it as it passed by into the distance of what is and what isn’t
I feel homesick
I miss my bed
I miss my mom
I miss Clementine
I’ve been uncomfortable for so long
I look at my smile in those pictures and I know it’s no longer a part of my dictionary
I want to cry
And when I don’t
It’s because what I am is gone from my mind
And for a short amount of time
I forget what it’s like to individually exist
To have my problems
My feelings
My wish
And I am ashamed of myself
Of what’s natural
Fore I’ve created promises that the universe does not hold close
Nor create ideas similar of
I’m sad
And I’m blue
Am I leaving you?

December 13th, 2024.

I need a new journal
I feel as though I’m in something constructed in a way to inflict terror upon me
I feel helpless
I feel I’ve lost too much blood and I’m awake enough to watch the doctors figure out how to prolong my dying life
I feel alone
I feel I’d like to cry every moment of every day
I feel I can either make the choice to show the world how I am right now, in my shrieks and pain, my tears and my arms cradling my head as I curl up to my knees and rock. Or I can choose to be still, to be quiet, to be slow, to do things on auto pilot, to not say too much.
And it’s unfortunate I must stow away what I am right now, who I entirely am.
Even to him
Even to him I cannot come out from hiding.
For it would be too much, it would go quiet, and now the emptiness filling the spaces prior would only turn until loss.
I don’t want to do this anymore.
I’m sorry for wishing for death upon me.
But when I asked for it.
I meant me
Not my baby
Not my Clem
And I’m sorry if she got caught and taken in the cross wind.
I’m sorry I ever wished it in any way
But it has not turned me away from the idea of it
Only closer to my extinction.
But who can you tell
When forbidden words are to keep sacred
Even when they’re the only words you have.

My last confession.

I left you because you broke my heart.

And i wish you’d acknowledge it.

I wish you wouldn’t deny it.

Because doing that, takes away everything I ever thought I was to you.

July 14th, 2025.

Released.

I think it has deeply cut me, because it’s words I’ve known the whole time, but were never confronted and spoken until now.

“To me, that matters more than anything”

I know

I knew.

June 22nd, 2025.

But either way, I’m gonna stay, and love you for, another day.

I cut
You cut
Pieces of ourselves
Given in land of treasure
With words we dedicate to the great abyss of forever
And within that darkness
We feel the void of space that encloses around our most prized admiration
Like nights claws of shame and things later that they’ll force to be rearranged
That they know our time
Before we’ve even arrived
But it was
Wasn’t it'?
Why couldn’t it have been enough
And now with each part of my heart
Soldered off each time in new ways
That each clean cut
Wasn’t the last
As the knife just gets duller
each sunken word in our epitaph
is another yearn for the touch
The soft caress of what once was
What once was, that wasn’t enough
And that if our land of treasure
Could have only protected what was pure
If it saw the gleam of the stricken light
Maybe it would’ve found enough grace to allow us a cure
And I’m afraid of never being rid
That time will inevitably tighten its ruthless grip
In a fate of the realization that this human life
Wasn’t built for us, our kind
That we were damned from our first glimpse of light
The first time we felt safe in a mothers eyes
That, that love and admiration
Even that wasn’t enough
To save us from the empty claws of the abyss
That once welcomed our love like we were us as kids
And each fall to my knees will leave bruises and cuts
And each slice will spill my bitter guts
But the bitterness that takes the edge
Will never be something for you to dredge
For the fate of this world is for neither you or I to blame
And the pureness of my blood that spills, is the only part that reads your name
For you were in my veins
You are in my veins
And ill wake and ill sleep another day
And another day
And another day
And another day
Until I reach a point to stomach the pain
To not understand it,
But to the point where I’ve given all my wishes away.
I feel like I could spill out onto the whole earth
But even then I’d only sink into the soil, the cracks of the concrete
And be forgotten just like the grief
Just like the pain
Just like one day
My own name.
May 20th, 2025

Darlin’

I’m writin’ you this letter now, one you’ll never receive.

You see, things have gone down this path i’d never imagined. You’ve got this way about you, where you fight off these things, all these things, and you could never recognize when it was me, when you were doin’ it to me. I’ve loved you every day, with all my heart, even when we’re apart. Now, I’ve left you, and you may not understand, nor agree. And I can’t stop you from becoming somethin’ different to what I’d known. I guess I just never knew it could go this way.

I love you,

Whether you know it or not, whether you understand it to be, or not. And darlin’, I can’t say I’ll ever accept what it’s come to, that I’ll ever sit still with it in my company.

And the thought to not want to miss you any longer, is not one I do want, but it’s one I’ve got to. That if you can not meet me here, then with the setting sun, I’ll have to turn, and ride away.

I’ll never understand, or come to terms with why you’d rather deny me and the truth, why you’d rather stay in that stagnant pool. But I can’t make you do nothin’, and I oughta stop tryin’.

So with this love, I’ll take, and I’ll ride away.

But know, on that dreadful day,

when I had to leave you,

It wasn’t me that wanted to.

Lord knows I’d never want somethin’ like that.

But every time you denied me,

every time you didn’t consider me,

those 11 months where I lost my dignity,

that I wish you could see,

you were the one leavin’ me.

I waited for you endlessly by that tree,

but you never came.

So I hope you can forgive me,

when that tree told me it wasn’t gonna be,

that I could wait and wait but you’d never see,

that I oughta start lookin’ out for me.

But even when I left that tree,

I still didn’t leave,

for, in my pocket, rested a piece of that very tree.

But then again, it’s that pride you’ve got,

that once again will take you away from me.

If I had a buckskin stallion,

I’d tame him down and I’d ride away

And if I had a golden galleon,

I’d sail into the light of day

If I had your love forever,

Sail into the light of day

May 5th, 2025.

And if you did, then you do.

Tonight, I got in my car, to get out of my room,

and I just drove.

Without thinking,

without trying,

I just drove.

And before I knew,

my body knew where to go.

Like I was being called,

drawn by some gravitational force.

As soon as I got there,

I turned the car off,

stepped out the door—

And I ran.

My feet on the forest floor,

I ran as if it were to something,

as if I’d turn the corner

and find you waiting.

I ran until I reached the river’s edge.

And with each deep breath from running,

I cried.

I looked down to where

the water met the sand.

A place that was once mine,

turned ours.

A place that was ours,

turned mine.

And I just started yelling out.

The thing is,

I don’t know why.

And I don’t understand.

I looked at this land,

and as I felt observed,

I didn’t understand.

So I turned toward the trail—

and I ran again.

I climbed the stump

and I told you:

I am Chloe.

I

am

Chloe.

I was.

I have been.

I am.

These trees, these mountains,

this river, and this sand—

they are the places I go to talk.

To you,

and to my river spot.

It knows me well.

It has witnessed itself.

I’ve given all.

I’ve given well.

And it knows—

just as well—

That I am Chloe.

That it sees—

just as well—

What it is

to be

Chloe.

And with the sun setting,

the moon rising,

the clouds forming,

and the wake of night—

I gave myself to that river.

And I gave

with all

my might.

May 4th, 2025.

Rain must pour in order for the green grass to grow.

It was peculiar

Tonight on my walk

Each street lamp came on

But not all at once

No

Each one on its own

As I walked underneath

From one block

To the next.

And each window I pass by

I see another life

And I wonder how it must be like.

The kids in the back of the parked pickup truck

Helping the littlest one up

Something small healed in me,

just then

That I felt I had been them

That it wasn’t so bad

To be them

Back then

And each tree

With a sprouting bud

Instead of a falling leaf

Can II

Huh

Can II

Huh

(paired with the song Can II by Hana Stretton)

April 26th, 2025.

Jenny put the kettle on, and I’ll take tea.

My hair is green, like electric moss. I’d like to go out into the woods to try it out, sit on a rock and just talk.

What would I like to do today? What would I like to do? Where would I like to go?

I don’t think my life is meant for this desk education, for sitting in small or large rooms, staring at a board or staring at you. I think if there’s something I want to do or somewhere I want to go, I should. I mean, what’s this life meant for? What should I strive to get closer to? Money? Is that really what’s supposed to speak to me? Not the world and all of its trees? I’ve learned most my lessons outside, waving a stick like a wand, sometimes a sword, speaking aloud like something oughta speak back, and it does. These are the things that resonate with me, because they’re personal, they’re spoken to ~ me ~, and communicated in ways articulated for me. And this is not to say that it is also not for you, but if it asked you to listen, could you?

Sell my soul, join the rat race, try to find my place, in something that has no space?

I talked to the trees, and this is what they told me;

All your asked answers are in the ground where you place your feet.

All that is known is already found in you and me.

All you need, awaits only for your eyes to open, in order to see.

Its voice in the mountains and the sea,

each with a different tone and inflexions in the way it speaks.

All that is natural, is all that you’ll need.

All that you’ll need, is already free.

Jenny put the kettle on, and I’ll take tea.

February 20th, 2024.

Didn’t I hear you say, ‘It’s alright, It’s alright, It’s alright.’?

I feel stale. I’m not learning, I’m not experiencing anything new. No new ideas, perspectives. I’d like to go, I’d like to figure out how. It’s hard, money is going towards Ireland, seeing my Irish love. I’ve got Clementine, my lovely cat, I can’t just live anywhere. Things are hard. I’m tired of the cold, I'd like sunshine. But what will warmth bring me here? I’d like to sell all of my things. I want nothing, I want to go somewhere where no one knows me. I’d like to see the world naked again, my surroundings. Everything looks clothed and cluttered, a snake that hasn’t shed its skin for a year and a half. My eyes are clouded, my skin is heavy and dry. I don’t find talking very enjoyable, I’d rather listen, but the song of this place in time, this current home of mine, does not offer new words or ways to be heard. I no longer identify with it, not that I ever did. Like a piano song that doesn’t necessarily move me, but makes everything slow, more comprehensive. There’s no build up or releases, just stagnance, not stillness.

I am rotting.

I should sell my things and leave. What about clem? What about fees?

Everything always works how it should. But I must move my pieces in ways that allow movement, openings.

I’m watching the Einstein movie right now, I’d like to meet him, I think we’d get along. I’d love to just sit and talk with him, maybe by a river, maybe in a field of grass.

February 16th, 2024.