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Itunu Nov 2020
Are like a flame. And I am highly combustible household furniture.

And so you move close to me, and touch me.
And set me on fire.

Then all at once

You multiply and engulf me in your love, in you. All of you.

And we burn
A beautiful hot blaze, wrapped in desire and hunger

And we burn
Illuminating the room, the house, the street.

And we burn, your flames multiply and grow and we are tangled in heat and desperation.

And we ignore the: warning highly flammable sign

And dance till we’ve scorched through the floor,
Leaving burnt out embers

You consume me, all of me.

You search my heart, my soul, my body. A house, room to room

Stealing all my possessions,
All my highly flammable household furniture

And I let you.
I watch your flames dance to me and I feel your heat.

And I let you burn me. Enveloped in the pleasure of your flames I burn.

Hot. Desire. Hot.

Until you’ve burnt through it all.

Left my reflection a wobbling photo of grief.

Exhausted. No more oxygen to eat on.
Just C 0 2.

No more me and you.

And I’m just a shell. A frame.
Filled with burnt furniture

And black.
Salmabanu Hatim Apr 2020
Days at home and I have started hearing things,
My furniture and home appliances seem to talk to me.
My bed says "Come and lie down,
Enjoy tea in me,"
My pillows say,"Hug us,relax everything is going to be fine.
As I entered the kitchen my toaster jumped up to warn me of my wife's mood,
Too late, we started arguing and the vacuum told me to **** it up,
To make matters worse the washing machine put a different spin on everything.
The T.V and my mobile threatened to die if I did not give them rest,
Furious I banged the front door,
The door **** advised me to get a grip,
But the door screamed I was unhinged,
At that my fan soothingly said it would soon blow over,
At last the curtains ordered me to pull myself together.
Was lockdown can play havoc on your mind.
Isaac Dec 2019
questing to see
only our face
in their cracked mirages
and shattered dreams

struggling to see through
one another
as we attempt to open
ourselves out to the
frosty winds of the world

locking everyone else out
locking ourselves in
slamming shut
getting slammed shut

infinitely tall
full of unopened
chests and unsolved puzzles
rusty keys broken
in rustier locks

trying to
glow and glimmer
in the pressing darkness
to be snuffed out

some graffiti
some paintings
others ***** stains and *****

we are but furniture
used users using

we are but a home
with cracked walls windows mirrors
but we are a home

we are but humans
with broken minds souls hearts

but we are human.

you are human too.
Our days roll away like dropped coins.
Individual moments are continually lost,
Often never to be reflected upon again.
But the epochs of a full life remain,
Safeguarded by the cushions of our couch,
Waiting for when we are in need of a treat.
Proctor Ehrling Sep 2019
I'm barely at home
There's my wooden furniture
These my plates of chrome
A fridge full of nourishment
My marble dome
But I'm barely at home

I've barely a hearth
This a room of my choosing
That there my land on earth
My book shelf for musing
Amenities for mirth
But barely a hearth
I don't have any place to feel at home... Freestyle written in 6 minutes.
mikey May 2019
the part of myself that can enable the footstep

after the hovering, land on the rest

slightly angle against the soft covered cotton.

seeing the dust and rocks laying on the softness
Ed C Apr 2019
I got a new desk today,
I thought "HEY!
if I get a new desk
I'll be able to fix this mess!"
I put together the desk,
it wasn't hard,
I didn't sweat.
I put it in my room
and I got upset
because despite the desk
being beautiful and tall
wooden and long
perfect for that corner in my room,
it was not big enough for the clutter
and the mess
and the stress
and all the books and the stuff
that I need around me.
So now I have a desk and my things
and we all float together in my solitude.
Sometimes you need a desk and sometimes the desk doesn't need you.
You are a piece of furniture
Those that are close to you
act like they own you.
You are their "Loyal Subject"
In their "Kingdom"
in which....
They rule you.
One dare to question or rebel to this
and it is you who are disrespectful
and have the face ,in which , on it, they ****.
What you own they have a right too.
What they gain is the object.
What you don't
Don't feel sad...
for in "their kingdom"
That's a breaking of a rule
and such...
would be  a "way"
"in which you have just  traveled"
Justly Right or unjustly wrong....

it is you who must leave them or endure such..
That is -  "you must be the one silent and remain much more strong."
Ambika Jois Sep 2018
The rug
Lying underneath your feet;
Been on the ground
So long,
It's stuck to the ground.

The fence
Standing deep, anchored in soil;
**** rooting down
So deep,
It's part of the land.

The frames are clean,
The pictures seem
Like history.
Once upon a time,
I was
More than furniture to us.

But now:

I want you to see me,
Like the door you can open;
I'm more than what's inside your home.

I want you to want me,
Like you used to everyday;
I'm that girl you wanted to make time for when you're alone.

Now, are you not alone?
Is that why
I'm the rug, fence and your furniture?

I know I work from home.
I know I got a lotta things to do.
I know I haven't lived up to the best of expectations.

I'm still that girl you fell in love with.
I dream beyond every bandwidth.
I take my time to really be sure.
I wanna do it without complications.

But I know,
I bore the hell outta you.
With my
Nagging that could turn ears blue.
But I
Promise that I love you baby,
You gotta see me in the light of the truth:

I want you to see me,
Like the door you can open;
I'm more than what's inside your home.

I want you to want me,
Like you used to everyday;
I'm that girl you wanted to make time for when you're alone.

Now, are you not alone?
Is that why
I'm the rug, fence and your furniture?
There are times when we are so much a part of other people's lives - married couples, live-in couples, friends, family, housemates, you name it - that we turn into their everyday lives in such an unnoticeable way. This poem is about what tends to happen when you get too used to having someone around.
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