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Sorelle 11h
I’ve worn out my hands
On doors that never open
Every handle burns cold
Every lock swallows my name
They tell me I shine
Then remind me that
Someone else burns brighter
A compliment sharpened to a knife
I bleed quietly every time
Permanent jobs
Impermanent peace
Contracts like paper skin
Splitting under the weight
Of another “unfortunately”
I built years out of scraps
Temporary walls
Temporary wages
Every room I enter collapses and I’m buried
In exit dates stamped deeper than veins
I am a landfill of “maybe”
A graveyard of short-term hopes
Stacked so high it crushes my lungs
I don’t breathe anymore
I pant
I claw
I tape my ribs together
Like they’re about to split
I’m told I am enough
But never chosen
And the difference is the sound of glass
Breaking in my chest
Over and over
Until there’s nothing left to shatter
I'm tired
God, I am so tired
And still I show up
Threadbare and shaking
Begging another stranger
To tell me I matter
A prayer written on rejection letters
-Sorelle
Sometimes I can't hardly breathe                                                          ­     I  have  a landslide of emotions in me                                                        that  gives me a bit of anxiety                                                          ­             and   I  struggle  with  my sensitivity                                                      ­   I  feel everything so deeply                                                           ­                 that  opens  me to vulnerability                                                    ­   but  I  don't  believe I am the only one                                                              ­                           or  there  wouldn't  be  any love songs                                                            ­    I am an admirer of writing  poetry                                                 somewhere  I  can let myself be free                                                             ­ pencil  and  paper  allow  me  to be                                               as  open  and honest as I want to be                                         While  I  write  it flows out of me                                                              without fear of scrutiny                                                         ­                      The  one place I can really let go                                                               ­           of  so  many feelings  others don't know
I always have written my poems on paper first in pencil before putting them online, not sure how everyone else does it. I have been writing since 1990 and have always done it this way.
Quantum Poet Sep 15
There was a melodic hum in the wind that had no source to name.
And I saw how the trees would sway in rhythm with the skies,
Although I'd never heard of it being noticed in others' claims.
Still, I'd hint confusion but never got meaningful replies.

I remember how all the other kids, and how they'd run together,
A hundred feet would be syncopated in rhythms just alike.
And how I’d never even consider me trying to participate,
I'd learned that I must hide all the reasons I'd be seen as “not right.”

So, I grew up alone and light to me, was the fractures on the wall.
The animated shadow that for some reason, I was scared to touch,
I'd study each of their directional patterns like a sacred compass,
And laugh it off with the trendy phrase, “I think way much”

I wasn't just thinking, I was noticing how shadows would pause,
Just before they would switch to either side of me and then flee.
By then, I'd come to realize, this was more like their language
Epiphany struck a realization. “They've always been calling to me.

The nighttime air seemed to grow thicker and slower.
I felt the connection with what had become of my veins,
The heat pushed though in pulses beneath my thinning skin.
This heat was strange; it coiled and sounded like liquid chains.

When my mirrors cracked, they left symmetrical patterns of intent.
In perfect shapes, but no one was ever there but me to see.
Dirt made molds and somehow learned to study my imprints.
By doing so, devised a way to lead by my own feet.

Awake for days at a time, I'd spent too much time typing away.
I recall writing “breathing is all that sets me apart from computers.
In a poem I'd forgotten about called, “wires give life in a way.”
I still can't deny the fact we're built the same, but they're built truer.

Skies were flickering currents that my eyes began to catch,
With colors vibrating unsteady like electrical streams.
The wind was telling secrets of things that I could dispatch,
New imagery would find a home in my impossible dreams.

Interactions with others confused me, like codes I'd misread,
Each glance in my direction drew a map I couldn't align.
I'd trace the steps of the ghosts of God's, living and dead.
Instead of truth, all I found was static in the myth of time.

My best friend was the moon, the only calm I knew at night,
Its glow had certain energy making me feel I'm Awaited there.
I'd stand in the path of its rays and hoped they'd just ignite.
And take my mind and soul away from my body in golden flares.

Instead, I open my eyes confused, I saw doors that didn't exist.
Reality had edges, they would fold wide open in the air.
To be normal I'll blame it on curiosity and my inability to resist.
But truth is that gravity was pulling me into nothing, into nowhere.

These days, existence is just another signal I've come to know,
The language that sets the course of our paths, naturally convulsed.
But yet, waves of my frequency fall from order, no ebb to the flow.
I must be Half-human half-nothing, and naturally convulsed.

Trees of comprehension from forbidden seeds have grown.
In my mind, they stretch metallic roots, as if I'm conscious soil.
So now I sing, influenced by lagging rhythms of glitch in the code,
Somehow stepping out of the matrix through my mortal turmoil.

It's not so bad, but I don't sleep. My hard drive won't forget.
It's like the cosmos is trapped behind the cage of my eyes.
As I move in rhythm with time, like synthetic silent wires of mesh.
Half-light, half-shadow, still not seen but I'm no longer disguised.
Sorelle Sep 2
I have pasta trauma
That’s the joke I tell
But it isn’t funny
It’s shorthand for the sickness
That never leaves
It’s why hunger feels safer than indulgence
Why I can starve myself with ease
But stumble over a plate of something rich
I am fluent in the language of deprivation
Fullness has always felt like arrogance
Nobody talks about the way shame
Ferments in the stomach
How it sits heavier than food ever could
Shame teaches you to apologize for existing
Before you even open your mouth
Shame teaches you to rehearse obedience
Until it becomes instinct
Hunger became my first addiction
The only sensation I could control
I didn’t know then that choosing not to eat
Was the closest thing to rebellion I had
-Sorelle
When she call
O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!!

She said she likes my simplicity.
She said she calls me everything.
When I told her, “Go home—just stay on the call,”
She turned back—on your call, back home.

I said, “Don’t come, it’s far away.”
She said, “I care.”
She said, “I know you well.”

I am the brother—
And I love it when she calls.

By Vedanta Anagha/Mayank Tripathi
For my sister
mysterie Aug 19
how am i meant
to know what my life
is going to look like
after highschool?

will i be in university?
studying what?
what job will i have?
where am i living?
what friends do i have?
did everyone leave?

how am i meant
to know
who i am
entirely
at 15
if most people
dont even know themselves
at 35?
date wrote: 18/8
raaaah
mysterie Aug 18
i stare into
your sapphire eyes,
communicating your true feelings
without truly
speaking.

they tell me everything i need to know,
what you really think.
about everyone,
the world,
about me.

...

i stare into
your sapphire eyes,
they stopped talking awhile ago.
you've gone completely
numb.
date wrote: 18/8
eyes can talk, theyre quiet but look long enough and its a window into ones twisted mind
mysterie Aug 18
i dread talking the truth,
letting those words flow out
of my brain
and out my mouth.

it's seldom.

i dont speak my truth,
i am never honest
with my real feelings.

wont it just hurt people?
date wrote: 18/8
might be a favourite..
Sorelle Aug 13
The mushrooms in the forest
Know more about survival than me
They bloom in death
And wear it like velvet
I tried burying fear in the compost bin
It came back fragrant
Humming songs I hadn't written yet
There's glory in the stink of it
Mould carving frescoes in
Forgotten bread
Worms in the pit of the peach saying
"We were here first"
I think I love things more
Once they start falling apart
Makes them honest
Some things only tell the truth
Once they start to decay
-Sorelle
Ariannah Jul 26
You broke me.
But you also left enough space just to keep me hoping
Yes, you broke me.
And I'll never forget the look on your face when I told you I can't keep coping

You ******* broke me.
And it keeps me awake at night
**** it man, it broke me.
Not being able to look in your eye

It broke me.
Always accepting all your excuses
Of course it broke me.
Since all your actions left me with bruises

Did you know the hurt never decreases
The love I gave with my whole heart now shattered into pieces.
And yes, I'm still breaking.
Because a broken heart will forever keep waiting.
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