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XXV. The Men Who Built the Sky.
"They didn’t save me. Not in the way that word is usually meant. But they gave me back the morning. A reason to pull the blinds. To let the light in."
Charlene Iris
Aug 75 min read
XXIV. The Ethics of Play (Our Kingdom of Sugar & Sand).
For anyone who built castles from couch cushions, ruled kingdoms in glitter shoes, or heard secrets in puddles, this is for you. A call to play again with wonder in your pocket and dirt on your knees. Step into this realm where the sky is candy and the worms are wise.
Charlene Iris
Jul 312 min read
XXIII. To Old Friends, Part II: Love, Let Go.
A bouquet split in half. A bee whispers at the edge of goodbye. Petals fall into dinner, and still, she leaves gently, like something wild remembering how to bloom.
Charlene Iris
Jul 293 min read
XXII. Ethically Sourced Contrition.
What if your dining table remembered the forest?
This spoken-land acknowledgment isn’t ceremonial, it’s personal, physical, and deeply inconvenient. A poem that walks barefoot through the house, naming the cost of comfort, and whispering sorry to every floorboard.
Charlene Iris
Jul 242 min read
XXI. I Am Not What You See.
To be watched is not the same as being seen.
A piece about visibility, misunderstanding, and the deliberate rebellion of withholding yourself.
Charlene Iris
Jul 233 min read
XX. How To Suffer Politely: The Blueprints of Descent.
A soft-spoken reckoning.
A ritual for when the world comes calling.
Charlene Iris
Jul 162 min read
XIX. Things I Don't Understand: "Keys"(Part II).
I’ve never quite understood keys.
Or how something so small can decide if you’re allowed back in.
In "Keys", part of the "Things I Don’t Understand" series, I try to unlock a door.
The door has thoughts.
The key has memory.
And apparently, I have something to answer for.
Charlene Iris
Jul 124 min read
XVIII. Things I Don't Understand: "Up" (Part I).
There are signs that point left. Signs that point right. And then there are signs that point "Up"... Without explanation, context, or the courtesy of being metaphorical.
Charlene Iris
Jul 123 min read
XVII. Time is Badly Made.
"There’s a bench with the arm broken off. The paint flakes like pages left in the sun. A pigeon nests underneath it like permanence could be proximity. And someone stands nearby: still fading, still here. Almost sitting. Almost gone"
Charlene Iris
Jul 102 min read
XVI. The Anatomy of Want.
He has everything.
Still, he wants.
A poetic autopsy of power and the man it unravels.
Charlene Iris
Jul 92 min read
Musings
Wander through the dusk-lit rooms of SomEpiphany.
A quiet archive: the tender, the tangled, the mildly ridiculous—fragments of life that insisted on being remembered.
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