Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
I hide behind a mask—
So you know me as Mrs sunshine.
Light radiates off my shoulders,
As I laugh through the silence.
I hide behind a mask—
So you know me as Mrs talkative.
I shed my worries and joys,
Through talking and parlour tricks.
I hide behind a mask—
So you know me as Mrs perfect.
Cracks never open,
Faults are never revealed,
I keep everything concealed.
I hide behind a mask,
So real you can’t see the lie.
The trick is to mix in some of the truth,
Until you can’t tell,
Which feelings are truly mine.
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
Am I as beautiful as they say?
Or are they blinded by my looks.
Sure im a woman,
But that’s all they know.
That my femininity is for them to behold,
My walk talk and glance,
All created for them,
And them alone.
Assuming romance over friendship,
Assuming I owe them something—
For what?
Glancing my way?
Being nice?
Do my words mean so little to you,
That you mistake them for common flirtation?
Those words held meaning.
Those words reached out,
Asking for affection,
Instead you silenced them,
And asked for connection—
Through not the mind but body,
For I was never a person,
Just a tool you could use.
For your own whims,
Leaving stains on my skin,
Who cares how I feel?
I’m just the show,
The entertainment—
I’m a vase of flowers.
With no attachments,
Cut for your admiration,
Left on display,
Perfect in every way-
Even Aphrodite feels dismay.
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
Ghost, River, Gaze, Erase, Tender, Cold.
Memories of you,
Ripple across my thoughts.
Your smile ,
Your gaze —
Though I suppose both were cold to my touch—
I still hope you felt something.
Something to be haunted by,
So the ghost of my laughter keeps you up at night—
I know you don’t care.
So don’t pretend to be tender,
You acted like my hands hurt you,
As If I forced your skin to bleed,
As if I dug that swiss army knife in between,
The crevices of your skin,
Just to see how deep it could go.
You drowned yourself,
In that river of despair,
And cried about how I put you there—
You ignored my help and erased my welcoming presence–
So I’ll return the favour.
I’ll leave you in the back of my mind.
I don’t need you now so,
Why do the memories of you,
Ripple across my thoughts.
Your smile ,
Your gaze —
Though I suppose you never cared at all.
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
I say I grow without greed,
But my wants, desires, and needs,
Blur in the obscurity of my own mind.
My heart isn’t filled with hate,
It doesn’t wish to be late,
To the race that is my blossoming maturity.
All will wither, all will die—
And so will I,
But my thoughts will keep racing,
Pacing,
Across a room that doesn't exist,
Searching for an exit when the mind doesn’t offer escape,
Only solitude.
Live or die,
Which choice is right,
Should my life really be in my own hands?
And?
What if I’m wrong?
Will my punishment be long?
Or will I suffer a century and a second,
All at once.
Who am I to say I grow without greed,
When I’m burdened by these constant wants,
Desires,
And needs.
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
My skin’s made of flowers,
Waiting to blossom in the shade,
Fighting the urge to turn grey,
As they look desperately for—
The summer breeze of tomorrow.
Where their petals ruffle in the wind,
Feeling cold beneath my skin,
I shiver at thought of being alive.
Ladybugs,
On the tips of my fingers—
Grasshoppers,
At the base by my roots—
My body is an ecosystem of renewal.
Glistening morning dew,
Droplets of golden sun,
It feels as if my life has just begun.
My petals may fade with my mood,
My colour may change with the seasons—
But my seeds stay planted.
In the strong soil where I stand,
For I may be stunted for a while,
But my growth will never come to an end.
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
This is supposed to be my outlet.
Emotions I claim are tainted pour out of me,
And I call it art.
This is what recovering looks like.
Pages upon pages of words I’ve kept hidden from the world—
This is what healing looks like.
Feeling more and more,
Just so the inspiration continues,
Because,
Creating feels better than existing ever did.
So why is it,
That my emptiness grows ever deeper?
What was once a narrow hole,
Has grown into an empty chasm,
Leaving my body hollowed out and dry,
Letting scorpions crawl up my spine,
Searching for dews of joy,
That don’t exist.
In anger,
They prick my skin.
Hoping for a reaction,
Only to realize joy isn’t the only thing that’s absent.
Numbness replaces the mind and soul—
My growth has been stunted.
My thoughts have been reeled in.
Everything halted for a single drop of creation—
Was this really just an outlet?
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
Guilt over resolution,
Guilt over change—
Guilt over accepting,
That no matter how hard I tried,
I’d always be the one to blame.
Maybe you were meant to.
Maybe I was the one who was bruised—
All I know,
Is your choices hurt me,
More than they hurt you.
Now that I’m gone.
Now that I’ve left—
You’ve chosen to forget me,
A choice I had hoped you’d regret.
Now that I’VE changed.
Now that I’VE moved on—
I still feel a twinge of guilt,
Over the things you did wrong.
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
Monophobia.
The fear of being alone.
What if I only exist when wanted?
I don’t want to be forgotten,
Banished away in the void,
Which is eternally silent.
For what becomes of the single soul,
That is ignored by the masses?
They become irrelevant.
Lost in the words they didn’t speak.
Drowning in the emotions they kept captive.
What if I only exist to be wanted?
Would that mean I’ve failed?
Or that I was born,
Knowing I wouldn’t succeed.
Born knowing that I’d be ignored by the masses,
Born afraid—
Of being alone.
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
Who am I in the context of you?
I’ll blindly follow your every whim,
For changing is a sin—
That only fools choose.
I’m obliged to follow commands.
It’s written in my code,
That my life isn’t mine to hold—
Though it feels like something I’m handed.
Yes I know I’m weak.
Weak to the power of influence,
Self resolve is a nuisance—
To those who have already reached their peak.
The context of you satisfies everyone.
Mine lacks that sort of power,
So instead it devours—
The context of your idealistic one.
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Claire Godenir Poem
Alone,
In the dark of my room,
I’m overcome,
By the well of emotions,
Lying dormant in my chest.
Never ending,
Seemingly pointless,
They sleep restless,
Waiting for acknowledgement—
That I’ll never give.
Not knowing which emotions are volatile,
Makes me anxious.
For if I slip,
I might release those weapons,
Instead of my gifts,
Towards the crowds of kindness,
The waves of gratitude,
The sea of generosity—
I feel like a pebble of misfortune and cruelty.
Sent to ruin the balance,
My hands only cause pain,
My heart has everything to gain—
While they have everything to lose.
My walls stare back at me,
In the silence of my room,
As they judge my being,
And question my worth,
Deciding whether or not they’ll cave in—
Just to give me what I deserve.
Or,
What I would deserve,
If I was the pebble of misfortune,
In a sea of gratitude.
But my mind sways with the ocean currents,
Flipping through my plethora of personalities,
Judging whether or not,
I’m truly that bad—
Or just unsure,
Whilst I sit alone,
In the dark of my room—
I don’t think I’ll ever be sure.
Copyright © Claire Godenir | Year Posted 2025
|