Details |
Cleet Goers Poem
Chasing a dead dream.
Am I chasing a dead dream?
A burnt out candle of Joy.
Am I chasing a dead dream?
A beautiful wonder crushed into roadkill.
A dream so far gone even the purest of angels wince from sheer pity.
A dream so rotted and torn not even the raccoons of the night stop to feast on its remains.
So ugly and broken nobody cares to fix it all up again.
I think i've made up my mind, i'm chasing a dead dream.
A Perfect Being.
I stare at the perfect being.
My eyes show light.
Looking at the being, I forget about my blight.
This perfect being, it makes my eyes glow.
I look up to it’s hair, although my head hangs low.
This perfect being, makes me want to forget,
This perfect being… Is my light.
Why am I alive.
Why am I alive?
I ask this everyday.
Why am I alive?
That's all I can think about.
It's all I can suffer from.
All I want to do is figure out why,
Why I'm alive.
Tours.
I lived here, I went there.
Tours; They're not permanent,
Like the happiness of the place that I've left behind.
Am I gone…?
Are the others gone..?
I hope they miss me.
They probably will forget, as I will.
Are my feelings genuine..?
As long as I have memories, is the feeling valid..?
All I want to have is validation for my feelings.
Orange Band.
There's an orange band.
They tour around our Land.
There's an orange band.
Some of their songs are bland.
There's an orange band.
The bassist and drummer like to hold hands.
In the band, rumors start to rise.
Could they be in disguise..?
In the band, it's all downhill.
That's sad, isn't it..?
no more band, it's all gone.
It's your fault, or… has fate drawn..?
Guilty Pleasures.
Why do we exist again…?
Why..?
Is it to please..?
To be pleased??
What am I, what are you?
Do we feel love..?
Or is it all worthless?
I wonder,
I love to wonder..
Why do we wonder?
Do we deserve to wander?
Or should we succumb to the chains of hell?
I wonder, I wander, I want hell.
Poetry.
What is poetry,
it’s what I'm writing,
it is something you can write.
Why do we write it?
Why?
What’s the point of writing, when we can talk, what am I?
What is worth?
All I am is words, all I am is temporary.
Temporary.
Copyright © Cleet Goers | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Cleet Goers Poem
Trans Teen Girl, walking through the snow.
Running my hands through my hair, unsatisfied with how it doesn't grow.
And I close my eyes, Trying to wait for a surprise, Though
Nobody understands, I can't be free. Strangers ruin my existence with glee.
Sands of time rubbing raw across my neck, My corpse lie in the garden for nobody wants to check.
Trans Teen Girl, lost and alone,
Even if she can't see it, nobody wants to give her a home.
Ever so naive, The Trans Teen Girl keeps looking and praying for a place to call home.
Nevertheless, she can't see it. She has nobody to claim for her own.
Grains of sand running across her fragile neck,
Individuality causes young women to metaphorically wreck.
Ruining my life by coming out of my shell, Christian priests condemn me to hell.
Laying on the cold white snow, This Trans Teen Girl will never know
Happiness.
Copyright © Cleet Goers | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Cleet Goers Poem
An Irish Goodbye,
No Matter how hard I try.
It's what I expect,
Difference to no effect.
Drenched in the water of rebirth,
I fail to see my worth.
Crawling across the floor,
My failing brain just wanting more.
Every Minute my heart may fall out,
And I'd be fine with that, No doubt.
What do I do when I'm someone to abhor,
When I don't have a worth anymore.
No matter how hard I try,
I get an Irish Goodbye.
Copyright © Cleet Goers | Year Posted 2026
|
Details |
Cleet Goers Poem
People are like flowers.
Most grow to be wonderful and beautiful.
Pink, Blue. maybe a nice dollop of Green.
I stay alone in my own side of the garden.
It's not easy.
As I slowly wilt away.
It’s not the life I want. But a life I deserve.
As I slowly wilt away.
Children come around to frolic and play.
As I slowly wilt away.
Birds sing, fly, and chirp.
As I slowly wilt away.
Nobody remembers my name.
As I slowly wilt away.
The gardener comes around and notices my state.
It’s too late.
I’ve already wilted away.
Copyright © Cleet Goers | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Cleet Goers Poem
One Or Two.
I am one, being with you makes me two.
Does being with you increase my worth?
Does two have to be more important than one?
Am I better off alone?
Am I better off with you?
All I want is answers, all I want is normalcy.
One or Two. just a binary?
Why not three, or four.
Why one or two.
All I want is answers,
One or two.
Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis
A long word,
I wish I knew you for longer, but I don’t.
A word means more than our time, but it doesn’t.
See how easy words can be warped?
The title can be warped just as well.
Can we be warped?
Is our love warped?
I hate the warped ideas reining me in this world.
Do you think i’m warped?
Do I?
Help. although, i’ll be okay in the end.
Pending.
Love song.
Expectations.
What did you expect…?
Love, correct?
Your expectations for me are higher than expected.
This is a poem, not a love song.
Expectations, are our ruler.
Expectations are our hell.
Expectations are our suffering.
Don't expect a love song, now.
Why?
Why, I ask that often.
Why do I love?
Why do I love you?
Why do I want to know you.
Why do I want to be like you.
Why do I feel this, when I want to be myself.
Whenever I'm with you, it goes away.
Why do you inspire me, why do you make me feel like you.
Why are you my reason?
Why.
Please. why.
Eyeballs.
I saw your eyeballs in the morning, staring into mine.
Is that weird?
I always think… your eyes.
They're beautiful.
I think that, yes I do.
I know it's probably weird,
but it's a nice thing to look at, because…. they're yours.
And I like that.
Consumption.
I went outside today.
I cried, it was cold.
Damn it. it's so damn cold.
I feel all my sins crawling on me. it's so damn cold.
Please help me, god.
I feel the cold growing on me.
Please help me god.
It's eating me.
Please.
Mercy.
I want to die.
Please kill me.
I feel the cold eating away.
Help me.
Broken Leg, Broken Morale.
Broken leg.
Broken morale,
As my bones break, so does my mind.
A parallel conjured deep within my neurons.
It's odd. I chuckle, but that ends with pain.
The physical pain leads the charge, as the guilt stays behind.
Slowly burning and grazing my skin.
Leaving the occasional kiss before leaving and burning me again.
The guilt is always looming, however.
With my broken leg, comes a broken morale..
Copyright © Cleet Goers | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Cleet Goers Poem
Aching Hearts Shall Lay
Just burning with much dismay
Why doesn't it go my way
Copyright © Cleet Goers | Year Posted 2025
|
Details |
Cleet Goers Poem
Mom, can't you save me?
Please, why can't you save me, mom?
Mom, Please just save me.
Copyright © Cleet Goers | Year Posted 2026
|