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#citylife
The city doesn’t sleep. It tosses and turns and doom scrolls till dawn. Borrowed hours and burnt coffee have a habit of going unnoticed. Noon is too loud for feelings. Nobody reads poetry at brunch. The shadows are only just beginning to appear when she realizes She’s been tired for years.
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May 21
May 21, 2026 at 8:40 AM UTC
Feelings Don't Belong here
The pawn sits Twenty-six stories up Outside my window That is nailed shut-- Watching, without eyes, Sensing, with its stone pores Absorbing everything that floats Up from the steam from the street grates to the smell of engines laced With the sweet scent of rotting garbage, all the bags lined up On the sidewalk next to scurrying And hurrying, bustle and hustle, Self-cares a bubble around each Individual, at twenty-six stories, They are ants. They travel throughout the deeply cut man-made divots in the earth and pray to the buildings that Scrape the sky that their purpose Is shared, that the buildings promise To hold their alliance, to stand tall And not fall like domino's in a game of the hereafter. The streetlamps let us peek At the night life that starts to seep Out of the shadows of the neat And tidy crossroads of the urban peak of immaculate synergy. If you squint, you see the cracks, The weary, the unfortunate, the left behind dragging their cares With them, the lingering smell of ammonia and fear, the ambition slapped from their worried bones, their tired hands outstretched For any kindness, any recognition That they are still an 'us'-- part of the human flora that blooms Even when their roots are in a crack of the sidewalk pavement. Vendors, senders, returning To their marked blocking spot Down Broadway, even the taxis Feel rehearsed, pedicabs peddle, The fake designer purses' buckles Glinting, glaring, the tourists Picking--staring, the natives Mumbling, shuffling--daring to Brave the underground Where the pawn no longer sees, Taking the people away to places, Then regurgitating them from The depths, flooding up from some other Hole in the ground. Years ago, From this spot, Construction workers sat Nine hundred feet up On a cross beam suspended With metal rope, Eating their lunches, Having a smoke, Near the new home of The Pawn, Before it understood What pigeons were. Before it was stained With flying excrement, Beaten with heavy rains, Accosted at all hours With the sound of horns And traffic and people. This is the Pawn's city, Watching over it with Cleverly disguised senses, Not a gargoyle hanging Over a precipice, But a silent narrator, Absorbing the culture, On the twenty-sixth floor, From which it never moves, And calls this place Home.
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Apr 11
Apr 11, 2026 at 8:55 AM UTC
The Warwick Pawn
The pawn sits Twenty-six stories up Outside my window That is nailed shut-- Watching, without eyes, Sensing, with its stone pores Absorbing everything that floats Up from the steam from the street grates to the smell of engines laced With the sweet scent of rotting garbage, all the bags lined up On the sidewalk next to scurrying And hurrying, bustle and hustle, Self-cares a bubble around each Individual, at twenty-six stories, They are ants. They travel throughout the deeply cut man-made divots in the earth and pray to the buildings that Scrape the sky that their purpose Is shared, that the buildings promise To hold their alliance, to stand tall And not fall like domino's in a game of the hereafter. The streetlamps let us peek At the night life that starts to seep Out of the shadows of the neat And tidy crossroads of the urban peak of immaculate synergy. If you squint, you see the cracks, The weary, the unfortunate, the left behind dragging their cares With them, the lingering smell of ammonia and fear, the ambition slapped from their worried bones, their tired hands outstretched For any kindness, any recognition That they are still an 'us'-- part of the human flora that blooms Even when their roots are in a crack of the sidewalk pavement. Vendors, senders, returning To their marked blocking spot Down Broadway, even the taxis Feel rehearsed, pedicabs peddle, The fake designer purses' buckles Glinting, glaring, the tourists Picking--staring, the natives Mumbling, shuffling--daring to Brave the underground Where the pawn no longer sees, Taking the people away to places, Then regurgitating them from The depths, flooding up from some other Hole in the ground. Years ago, From this spot, Construction workers sat Nine hundred feet up On a cross beam suspended With metal rope, Eating their lunches, Having a smoke, Near the new home of The Pawn, Before it understood What pigeons were. Before it was stained With flying excrement, Beaten with heavy rains, Accosted at all hours With the sound of horns And traffic and people. This is the Pawn's city, Watching over it with Cleverly disguised senses, Not a gargoyle hanging Over a precipice, But a silent narrator, Absorbing the culture, On the twenty-sixth floor, From which it never moves, And calls this place Home.
Continue reading...
75
A large part of my life was spent climbing trees and working in the fields. Life was slow, but it was enough for me. When the fields stayed behind and I stepped into a world full of unknown faces, I found people judging clothes and appearances. A strange feeling rose inside me whose name I did not know. No one ever taught me this word. A life of joy, peace, and small mistakes slowly turns into a silence I do not understand.
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Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 12:41 PM UTC
A Word I Never Learned
I always dream of a glamorous city, where the lights glitter brighter than the silver on my ears, where beauty is a song on every tongue and silence lingers like air. For now, I chase my goals, like a bird darting after a worm— restless, ambitious, unafraid. Because that city waits for me, the place I will one day call home.
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Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 4:00 PM UTC
Dream city
Riding the subway I realize there are so many people so many people, really I wonder if all of them are okay
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Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 11:52 AM UTC
8 Billion People
Я не играю — я Живу, Сказал однажды Роми Майерс. В приёмной жизни и в аду, Где каждый день — и бой без правил. Марсель, и снова по утру, Я вдохновляюсь с этим миром. Я не играю — я Живу. Сегодня. Здесь. Сейчас. Спасибо. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
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Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 9:33 PM UTC
♠️ Я не играю — я Живу
Она рыдала в туалете Гостиницы «Континенталь» — Её ебали те и эти, И вдруг себя ей стало жаль. И вдруг однажды на рассвете Она решила полюбить, Но, как листали те и эти, Никак уже ей не забыть. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
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Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 9:03 PM UTC
♠️ Она рыдала в туалете
Так хороша, когда оттрахана И фотки шепчут этот взгляд. Давно мужчины так не ахали — Все как один и — невпопад. Забыла мышка по-предательски Себя в пыли библиотек — И понеслася по касательной: Любить нельзя ебать навек. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
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Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 8:02 PM UTC
♠️ Так хороша, когда оттрахана
Любовница или наёмница, На подсосе — верная женщина. Суровых будней сподвижница — Она рядом, тихо играется. В игрушки свои наивные, Что Воин Света подкинул ей — Конфета на палке, липкая... Иди на хуй, милая девочка. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
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Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 7:32 PM UTC
♠️ Любовница или наёмница
The city hums a fractured tune tonight, A discordance that seeps into my bones. I walk these streets, bathed in electric light, And feel a chill that’s deeper than the stones. We built this world, with clever, grasping hands, A towering cage of steel and brittle glass. But something broke, beyond all our commands, And shattered peace, like shadows quickly pass. Anxious eyes, charged with desperate hunger for something unnamable, Reflect a collective yearning for connection and meaning. Humanity feels adrift, lost in a spiritual fog, disconnected from its inherent goodness and moral compass, Drifting further from its ideals with each passing moment. And all I feel is weary, heavy dread, To watch us stumble, lost inside our heads.
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Jul 28, 2025
Jul 28, 2025 at 12:53 AM UTC
In the Glow of Broken Lights
Sitting in the subway. All fix their eyes on screens — What does this sight convey? Is this all that their lives mean?
0
Jan 4, 2025
Jan 4, 2025 at 8:44 AM UTC
U-Bahn Wittenbergplatz
I felt so alone. every place I went. every place I stopped to visit. Seemed off. I followed the noise of everything around me in the hope of finding something familiar. I rounded corners, crossed mazes of streets. I didn't feel like I belonged to any of these places. mostly filled with strange looks. anxious behavior. still, I walked. big city life is too busy. always somewhere to be. always something to do. it's easy to lose track of time. keeping up with the next thing to do, the next place to be. I felt so alone. my walk becoming more unease. my shoulders more tense. nothing really felt warm. everyone felt cold, lost in the hustle of busy feet. Shoulders almost bumping into each other, Cars screeching their horn almost running into the other. the sanctuary of what I really needed seemed far away. still, I walked. meeting the avenue of your eyes. you. you seemed different. far different than any place I’ve been. I felt like I’ve been here before, or at least Would remember if I’ve dreamed about it. I didn't need to look at a menu to know what I wanted. there wasn't a question of where I’d sit, or if there'd be a seat by the window. No remembering if I needed to stop at an ATM or if I had the right Amount of money. I felt at ease. I immediately knew what I wanted and where I wanted to be. if I did continue to walk, it would be into tomorrow. so that I could come back here. a patron whose face would take no time to remember. when the weeks turn into years. I’ll remember to tell you; this is how I got home
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Jul 9, 2024
Jul 9, 2024 at 5:29 PM UTC
How I Got Home
I felt so alone. every place I went. every place I stopped to visit. Seemed off. I followed the noise of everything around me in the hope of finding something familiar. I rounded corners, crossed mazes of streets. I didn't feel like I belonged to any of these places. mostly filled with strange looks. anxious behavior. still, I walked. big city life is too busy. always somewhere to be. always something to do. it's easy to lose track of time. keeping up with the next thing to do, the next place to be. I felt so alone. my walk becoming more unease. my shoulders more tense. nothing really felt warm. everyone felt cold, lost in the hustle of busy feet. Shoulders almost bumping into each other, Cars screeching their horn almost running into the other. the sanctuary of what I really needed seemed far away. still, I walked. meeting the avenue of your eyes. you. you seemed different. far different than any place I’ve been. I felt like I’ve been here before, or at least Would remember if I’ve dreamed about it. I didn't need to look at a menu to know what I wanted. there wasn't a question of where I’d sit, or if there'd be a seat by the window. No remembering if I needed to stop at an ATM or if I had the right Amount of money. I felt at ease. I immediately knew what I wanted and where I wanted to be. if I did continue to walk, it would be into tomorrow. so that I could come back here. a patron whose face would take no time to remember. when the weeks turn into years. I’ll remember to tell you; this is how I got home
Continue reading...
37
My city... I was here before it was even one, my toys are older than the high-rise buildings. Yet all of my oldest dreams have long been gone, this is where new people from far-away are dreaming. People dream to visit here even for a day, I can't count the years I've been trying to escape. People travel here to have a sip of coffee, even the taste of water here can tell that I am sick. In the inner city, while everyone takes photographs, I try my best to walk with my shoulders not dropped. In the chic cafes where others strike a pose, I knew I never wanted more, I had my dose. My city, that many people dream of visiting and living in, why, then there's me who's here and feeling livid in. My now-larger-city that still feels like a small town, I feel suffocated, as if all my life I'm in a tight gown.
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Oct 21, 2022
Oct 21, 2022 at 1:21 AM UTC
My City Is A Town
Open me in half And you'll find plastic in my lungs And concrete in my stomach. It's good to know After I'm gone You'll still linger around, Even if you're just a corpse. Tell me we are no longer human; We are consumers, We are citizens. And all the angels know, And all the devils know, We won't change any time soon. I want to hurt you, I want you to hurt me. I want to curl my hands round your neck And see the life run away from you Like you made me run away too. I felt your shadow while we were making love And I cried. I felt your shadow And I wonder if you can feel my heartbeat. I'm just as lost as you, But we all forget Everyone else is hurting too; That makes it easy To open people in half.
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Jun 13, 2022
Jun 13, 2022 at 1:18 PM UTC
A song about cities
Meeting you gave me the permission I sought in myself. To get out & explore in a sense that it feels like home. Being with you, the best idea yet. Small petite buildings, towering buildings. Everyday feels brand new I don't feel the need to stay cooped up inside a room. With you I want to get out & explore and sleep when there is time. I've never been to a place like this before. I've never tasted food this good before & for once, There are no distractions, no other place to be. The lights that shine from your eyes The thoughts that travel fast like cars. I've never been to a city like this before, the best idea yet. When people ask me where I've been I call your name. When friends ask me where I'm going I call your name. And I can't wait until I get back there
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Jun 11, 2022
Jun 11, 2022 at 6:33 PM UTC
A City Full of You
I had forgotten The **** steam from a sewer grate Nature’s heat lamp And the regulars you see When you’re walking the streets And I hope they can find a clean mattress.
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Apr 1, 2022
Apr 1, 2022 at 1:26 PM UTC
Spring
The sun has set on another day, the sky settling a darker grey. The Moon has not yet graced us with its' presence. The nearby businesses, shedding light, fluorescent. Illuminating the water in yellow and blue columns. Like candles flickering in a church, in a scene, oh so solemn. People are walking home from work, some meeting for a drink or perhaps something to eat. Swans are gathering in a group, taking food from a human hand, such trust rarely given. I am lost in my thoughts as I watch the scene before me on the still waters, and just listen. Listen to the sounds of the end of the day.
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Dec 23, 2021
Dec 23, 2021 at 6:57 AM UTC
The end of the day
The place where life becomes captivity, Some people call it a big city.
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May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 8:30 AM UTC
Big City
I remember these early times The first Downtown in the cold Lights out. Adults living like heathens Teens on the streets My inspiration The freedom which comes from taps on bricks cold air to put you right back in your body Frightening. It was freedom nonetheless
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Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 11:11 AM UTC
I remember these early times
What a city! What tales to tell! A pizza boy crossing the street impatient, tired features clicking of heels on the stairs their elbows touch strangers from different worlds intimate for a fleeting moment Wailing of an ambulance crashing with the seductive smell from the corner coffeeshop A girl flirting with the waiter while round the block at a divorce court one fairy tale ends Yesterday's newspaper left on the bus seat a homeless man in the park humming quietly the city has many faces Raindrops on your office window - is it a _life_ what's happening out there?
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Aug 30, 2020
Aug 30, 2020 at 10:33 AM UTC
The tales of the city
Welcome abroad Thameslink. Grab a camera a wink at Shaftsbury’s bootylicious dancers. Pen in gear and know the answers to the parade of pub quizzes. Let your strands of raw seismic frizzes scream on bonds lightening Thames RIB. The Louis Vuitton wallet ‘on fleek’ for that crib inside the Shards slender diamond belly. Feet stay in groove with that Kidston welly against the roaring mud at the wireless festival. Pre dem soulful struts of de Notting hill carnival spicy spirits, nani wines and **** kisses. Safari hunt watch out for those hisses on centre stage of the primeval in the zoo. Grab my hand and come on boo steady your bags and steady your feet on the thrilling ride of Oxford street. Reminisce its entirety and say goodbye. As we take in our final view on the London eye. Justine Louisy Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016 All Rights Reserved
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Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 2:19 AM UTC
My holiday of.....