#challenging
I am sorlune. Not the wound, but the lamp beside it,
a hush that tastes of snowfall melting on the tongue.
Do not call me grief; grief is heavier, salt like anchors.
I am the pale bruise music leaves after the last note is gone.
I arrived the night you opened that shoe box of letters,
paper creaking like winter bark.
Your breath leaned over the past and struck a match.
I climbed the margins and lit the chill.
That tremor in your pulse? That was sorlune.
I am the window you stare through to see a different year,
the silver stitched into asphalt after rain,
a moth made halo around the porch light of memory.
When you whisper a name and the room grows taller,
you are wearing me. sorlune. like borrowed velvet.
Children outgrow me, then meet me again in a thrift store mirror.
Lovers learn my second language on nights
when the bed is wide but the moon is wider.
I am the ache that doesn’t ask for apology,
the glow that refuses to stop at the skin.
Call me once and I live in your clavicle;
call me twice and I spool a soft film over the day.
Call me a third time and I draw a door in the wall,
chalk white, moon thin.
Step through and hear the piano
you can’t quite place. That half-melody? It’s sorlune.
Do I hurt? Of course. Gently.
I am merciful weather:
a late autumn warm spell passing over old rooftops.
I do not break; I bend the light around your losses
until the edges blur and the center breathes.
I am in the smell of peaches at closing time,
in the last train’s echo, in the noonroom of a museum
where a painting remembers you first.
I live between fingerprints on glass and the sky’s first star,
in the pocket where your hands meet themselves.
When you laugh and it cracks a little at the end.
that bright crackle? Sorlune.
When you say “I’m fine” and mean “Keep listening,”
I slip under the word like a tide under a boat.
I don’t heal the past; I make it sing in tune.
I am sorlune, archive of light, curator of almost,
keeper of the glow that shadows borrow.
If you must define me, use your own breath as ink…
write slowly, leave room for the spill.
I will sign my name on the inside of your quiet,
and you will find me later, warm as a forgotten scarf.
Say it with me…
sorlune, sorlune, sorlune.
each time softer,
each time brighter,
until what hurts begins to illuminate
and what glows learns how to ache…
Aug 26, 2025
Aug 26, 2025 at 10:50 PM UTC
every time i cry i
cry with static
my vision is really erratic
when will this nightmare diminish
with every clear cinematic
i close my eyes to a broken tv
wake up to the same show on the screen
why won't the channel change?
it's so bleak
noise drives me insane
how can they say
im sane
when all i see
is all the same?
constant buzzing in your rear view
what deep lie
is rooted in your eye
is it mental? or critical?
its always the same tune
strung for a long time
i think I might just go blind
its always snowing
dust like ashes
it clashes
colours
and contrast
why can't I see the beauty
it adds more
over the years
im worried i won't be able to hear
or see the kiss by your ear
when i see clear of your eyes
when i die
will i still see light?
Dec 15, 2022
Dec 15, 2022 at 2:17 AM UTC
I don't think, as I reach up,
As I reach up, the stars shrink,
The stars shrink, and like glass cuts,
And like glass cuts, I don't think,
The stars fall, and like glass cuts,
And like glass cuts, the clouds stall,
The clouds stall, it won't end, but-
It wont end, but the stars fall,
We can't die, it won't end, but-
It won't end, but I can't cry,
I can't cry, 'cause in my gut,
'Cause in my gut, we can't die.
I don't think, 'cause in my gut,
'Cause in my gut, it's all drink,
It's all drink, I don't know what,
I don't know what, I don't think.
Oct 18, 2020
Oct 18, 2020 at 7:18 PM UTC
if i were a thing, i'd probably be a puzzle.
the one wrapped in plastic,
and smells like a fresh one.
a puzzle that's always challenging,
the one that attracts people's interest
but not everyone could solve.
Oct 31, 2019
Oct 31, 2019 at 3:26 PM UTC
Know I am not satisfied with myself
Recently more ashamed than I care to admit.
Could have the perfect life
Negative thoughts form a pit
For a second think I see the way out
Reason ommiting a soft glow
Try to take a step, my legs give out
Unable to make body go
Wondering if I will always be this way
Have no control over my critical mind
Head void of confidence and respect for myself
Self-love and acceptance so challenging to find
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 4:57 AM UTC
Life may be harsh and challenging right now
But know this much is true
I would never choose an easy life alone
Over a difficult one with you
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 3:12 PM UTC
More can be read into change easily,
Then change becomes a CHAlleNGE for many;
Change could spell less of a challenge maybe
If only change could be spelled out clearly?
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 6:19 AM UTC
who are you to say that I can't be this way?
And why should I be classified as unidentified because I don't " fit in " in society's definition.
Sexuality wasn't a choice I made I didn't suddenly wake up and decide to make up my mind on loving both genders, but now I try my best not to surrender, on your idea of how love should be painted
However I may come across as strong, but your words still burn like the razors that once lapped against my frigid skin, and sweetheart I still sin.
For I am in a body that controls my whole life and it's not okay to pull me aside and tell me what you think is wrong and what's right.
You don't get to judge me for if the watchful eye of the moon still shines for my damaged soul each night, then why should I let go of this fight, for acceptance.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 12:00 PM UTC
The word nerd yearns.
Finding her courage,
Hoping it still turns
To a fruitful emergence
Of an undeniable
Life's victorious purpose.
Doubting oneself, nothing worse
Than to be pulling oneself from
Their innate intimacy with verse;
Pulling the reigns to avoid
A pulling long felt by the Universe.
I henceforth deny omission
To the self-inflicted curse
Of not wanting to be immersed
In an art for which I thirst.
My gift is for words,
And I ****** myself face-first,
Into a radiant, benevolent star-burst.
What could go wrong? The absolute worst?
From following the pull of the Universe?
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
You think it's okay
But it's not.
Both of our lives
Are racing against the clock
Tick,tick,tick.
And when the big hands on the two.
And the little hands on the three
We're done.
There's no going back.
There's no changing the mistakes we've made.
There's no saying I love you one last time.
There's no taking on more whiff of the fresh cut grass,
Or your favorite perfume.
Tick tick,tick
There's no more adventure.
There's no more heartbreak.
There's no more anything.
We'll.
be.
gone.
Tick, tick, tick
So we need to do it now.
We need to indulge on the gifts we have now.
It's okay to order that piece of cake
It's okay to get that hair cut you love
But everyone else hates.
It's your life not theirs.
Tick,tick,tick
Do something you love
Because you love doing it.
Even if everyone tells you you're wrong.
Because our clock is ticking.
We can't see it.
We don't know if the big hand has almost reached the two.
And if it's almost there
And our time is up.
Did we live the life we wanted to?
Tick,tick,tick.
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 8:40 AM UTC
She severed the head of love's complacency
covering all I thought I'd discovered with a vice
like grip on a puzzling figuring out of normalcy
refusing any defining by turning pose in a trice
into fusions of fiery burns of my assumptions
until she was nowhere but there at every turn
churning the pressure with neat beats of passions
with valves registering a blistering alarm
a companion unhinged by dimensions dark tinged
not a snake charming woman nor a venomous fang
yet poison was taken with a cringe and a change
into a Hyde or a Jekyll I cannot decide things
When my grasps fall between all her parts half revealed
I gasp out of hunger pang eagerness to feel
slender slinking through fingers and thumbs unsolved
as a friend or a foe I can't know if she's real
Beyond physical perception I cannot be certain
because of fantastical attractions in legion
gone viral in tongues insubstantial past vision
yet assembled in ways which portend a contagion
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 12:53 PM UTC
"Temporary separation
is a part of the game.
After all, what is life
without a little pain?
And the sooner we realise this--
the better we will get at
sleeping during lonely nights;
the better we will get at
making it through the fist fights;
and the better we will get
at being alright,
because love isn't just about happiness,
or being perfectly comfortable.
It's about feelings alive in
every humanly way possible.
And if we're not ready for that,
then we're not ready to be loved.
And if we didn't feel broken,
then we didn't deserve to be loved."
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 7:01 AM UTC