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#even
oh utopia utopia how you ensnare the unwary! a summers day is either fine or rain and no-one knows how long it will last! we dream away with the beauty of it all and this is understood but crashing in on our party of love bringing the truth of this world is war, famine, violence, hatred all the things that destroy the utopian dream
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May 6
May 6, 2026 at 7:50 AM UTC
oh utopia utopia
Dreams we had together, / Are gone, / Dead, torn asunder. / Yours are yours, / & mine belong to me alone: / Let me be, let me go, —I am on my own. / Paradox; / You refuse to accept no means no, / Status quo quid pro quo. / —Energy & boundaries / Are sacred, / You extinguish them in the flames of your lust. / Beginning are endings, / Endings are beginnings, / The love burnishing this heart has died. / I am working out my own salvation / With fear & trembling, / —In this holy war. / The war continues, it seems unending, / The fight, it lingers, / Even after the rapture. / (—Se’ lah) 12-27-2025
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Apr 4
Apr 4, 2026 at 10:03 PM UTC
The War Continues Even After The Rapture
follow the Devil, and you won’t get lost… you’ll arrive exactly where he lives.
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Mar 17
Mar 17, 2026 at 11:27 PM UTC
Even a fool knows
I think it’s kind of funny how I let you walk away. It’s funny how you liked me first and I only liked you after. It’s funny how it’s my fault i've been waiting for you. It’s funny how we never even dated. It’s funny how you’ve probably already moved on and im stuck with this feeling. It’s funny how I want our friendship back because I know we can’t be more. It's funny how i still want you in my life. It’s funny how I keep holding on to hope. It’s funny how… I’m just laughing at myself. Why am I like this? Why can’t I just move on? Deep down I know I can’t laugh about this. These are my feelings and they’re real. Maybe it’s dumb. Maybe it’s normal. And maybe it’s not even funny. Maybe it’s just a part of me.
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Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 5:42 PM UTC
its kind of funny
even if we don't talk it's better than it being official and just so you know i dread the day when i get your message which i know will say i think it's better if we don't talk as if that isn't happening already
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Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 12:07 AM UTC
don't cut ties
all on the road home some have wandered far away some are resting by the way some are forging ahead some are completely lost and at times I have been all these and will be again
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Jan 13
Jan 13, 2026 at 10:27 AM UTC
all on the road home
out I burned down I collapsed in I nirvanad off I set. Waves of welter aligned to rewind losing the weight of mind. Swear I won’t fall again But this isn’t feel like falling Gravity can't forget to pull me back to ground again. The tune was arising until it’s fading. The image is grounded until it’s leaned. The voyager was granted until it’s strayed. The eyes were flicked until it’s shut. The hands were clutched until it’s fumbled. The sight was stretching until it’s blurring. The breath was pacing until it’s muddled. The heart was harboring until it’s shivered. The butterfly was fluttering until it’s tethered. Sinking, surging, swirling, There I was, though no one noticed. Not even my ashes afloat. Breeze nestled on wings of cradle Shade blurred in a beam of surge Petals flicked off stumble Thorns unfolded to prattle Fallen angles tethered sinful to light the darkened feather As it fell to fly
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Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 9:59 AM UTC
Out i BuRNed
this trip homeward bound, riding the Q (subway) train from the messy grime of a never fully repossessed cesspool misnamed as Times Square, to our apartment near but yet far, a poem short & sweet was born complete, on an 8 minute fast track victory lap to periodic successful urban planning, that even and even though with and/of which no speedy highly disrespectful witch on a broomstick, nor a midnight traffickless auto trip, could ever hope to compete <> roses red, violets blue, all the passengers, revelry tired, both becostumed & be plained, Hallowed eve festivities again, lesser than expected, life be, eager awaited legal moment of crazy- -inness-inward-permissed, never quiet or as good as hoped, we tired riders all look worn from the aggregated infidelities of a a hoped-for missing-out happier life nearing midnight, the new immigrants, in subway platform patrolling, offer us candy for sale, their toddler children, beside them at this midnight hour, to drive home the desperate willingness to survive in a city oft hostile no longer eager to be beacon beckoning to the world, we rethink to our minded selves, our Statue of Liberty engraved invite: "Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, / The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. / Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, / I lift my lamp beside the golden door” <> we exit the underground rout(e) and the walk from subway to front door is another 8 minute travelogue segment, we cover the quarter mile on foot, covering a skimp of distance that our urban transport   of many mileage covered in the same units of minutes in flyer miles <> late at night, we walk fast, with eyes wide, our lives to hide, from the risks of the unpredictable when the street parade of stragglers gives not the comfort of a rowdy crowdy, and the existence of crime is not entirely fabricated <Did> I offer short and sweet, Oh well I only misled, the trip 16 minutes and the poem in my head, complete emerged with minutiae attending et. al., in far far less mini~minutes, for it was a product of silent back labor, from first staggering screaming pain to successful unexpected birth that can take maybe minutes five, to mentally survive plus, physically complete the birth, introduce this poem to life. when the photos of my mined mind make images from negatives into words,: collect, sort and report the output picturesque now in colors black & white, of a trip from a Broadway theater through to a high rise building astride the river which gives me a theoretical cleaner space to breathe <> rather than short and sweet? I really reseed, redeed it as/is: *not too long and a tad bittersweet* a night in the life of the mixture of successes and failures of our troubled world in living technicolor, a few seconds of film of which one could fairly, and in fairness bless/write/curse/ each sight twice, uttering: ”mine eyes have seen the glories, as all come to look for America”
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Nov 7, 2024
Nov 7, 2024 at 7:14 AM UTC
Even Though (Short & Sweet)
this trip homeward bound, riding the Q (subway) train from the messy grime of a never fully repossessed cesspool misnamed as Times Square, to our apartment near but yet far, a poem short & sweet was born complete, on an 8 minute fast track victory lap to periodic successful urban planning, that even and even though with and/of which no speedy highly disrespectful witch on a broomstick, nor a midnight traffickless auto trip, could ever hope to compete <> roses red, violets blue, all the passengers, revelry tired, both becostumed & be plained, Hallowed eve festivities again, lesser than expected, life be, eager awaited legal moment of crazy- -inness-inward-permissed, never quiet or as good as hoped, we tired riders all look worn from the aggregated infidelities of a a hoped-for missing-out happier life nearing midnight, the new immigrants, in subway platform patrolling, offer us candy for sale, their toddler children, beside them at this midnight hour, to drive home the desperate willingness to survive in a city oft hostile no longer eager to be beacon beckoning to the world, we rethink to our minded selves, our Statue of Liberty engraved invite: "Give me your tired, your poor, / Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, / The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. / Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, / I lift my lamp beside the golden door” <> we exit the underground rout(e) and the walk from subway to front door is another 8 minute travelogue segment, we cover the quarter mile on foot, covering a skimp of distance that our urban transport   of many mileage covered in the same units of minutes in flyer miles <> late at night, we walk fast, with eyes wide, our lives to hide, from the risks of the unpredictable when the street parade of stragglers gives not the comfort of a rowdy crowdy, and the existence of crime is not entirely fabricated <Did> I offer short and sweet, Oh well I only misled, the trip 16 minutes and the poem in my head, complete emerged with minutiae attending et. al., in far far less mini~minutes, for it was a product of silent back labor, from first staggering screaming pain to successful unexpected birth that can take maybe minutes five, to mentally survive plus, physically complete the birth, introduce this poem to life. when the photos of my mined mind make images from negatives into words,: collect, sort and report the output picturesque now in colors black & white, of a trip from a Broadway theater through to a high rise building astride the river which gives me a theoretical cleaner space to breathe <> rather than short and sweet? I really reseed, redeed it as/is: *not too long and a tad bittersweet* a night in the life of the mixture of successes and failures of our troubled world in living technicolor, a few seconds of film of which one could fairly, and in fairness bless/write/curse/ each sight twice, uttering: ”mine eyes have seen the glories, as all come to look for America”
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136
“*But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I'm gettin' older, too*” lyric from “Landslide” by Stevie Nicks <> climbing stairs, balancing two breakfasts, two fill-to-brim-rims warning sloshing, earbuds in place, always, lest the news interrupts and plunges me first thing into moody murderous disheartened failure, and Miz Minx Nicks lays me low this lyric knocks me to rock, there and then, consequences be ****** the unstoppable lyric rocks grinding me to an immovable halt, all spills, don’t care, for the need to scream- bleed-finally write to understand why these a l w a y s words arrest my soul children the most costly thing anyone can create, the lost, the found the ones in the grave way too early, and the ones who were born knowing better, children whose inviolable sense of totally righteousness makes forgiveness disabled, disallowed for the poor clueless fools them who naively know~nothings who chose to raise them here I am not getting, no, unsteadily unreadily too late am older, up-to the shaking-head age so unexpected, almost ridiculous untimely unthinkable ‘cept for: *it’s an impossiblity ~ and just don’t understand this injustice perpetrated upon this unsuspecting and in denial, sorrowful old man* so I weep on the steps so steep, Woman comes to see if I'm fallen, my wailing at the realization of my losses all totally tallied is heavy much more than my now empty hands, but busy them, attempting to staunch the flowing overwhelming regrets that gush from every pore, and that no one can ever be cleansed, and the permance of stains for I am only getting older too killing me way too slowly
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Nov 2, 2024
Nov 2, 2024 at 8:47 AM UTC
even the children get older...
“*But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I'm gettin' older, too*” lyric from “Landslide” by Stevie Nicks <> climbing stairs, balancing two breakfasts, two fill-to-brim-rims warning sloshing, earbuds in place, always, lest the news interrupts and plunges me first thing into moody murderous disheartened failure, and Miz Minx Nicks lays me low this lyric knocks me to rock, there and then, consequences be ****** the unstoppable lyric rocks grinding me to an immovable halt, all spills, don’t care, for the need to scream- bleed-finally write to understand why these a l w a y s words arrest my soul children the most costly thing anyone can create, the lost, the found the ones in the grave way too early, and the ones who were born knowing better, children whose inviolable sense of totally righteousness makes forgiveness disabled, disallowed for the poor clueless fools them who naively know~nothings who chose to raise them here I am not getting, no, unsteadily unreadily too late am older, up-to the shaking-head age so unexpected, almost ridiculous untimely unthinkable ‘cept for: *it’s an impossiblity ~ and just don’t understand this injustice perpetrated upon this unsuspecting and in denial, sorrowful old man* so I weep on the steps so steep, Woman comes to see if I'm fallen, my wailing at the realization of my losses all totally tallied is heavy much more than my now empty hands, but busy them, attempting to staunch the flowing overwhelming regrets that gush from every pore, and that no one can ever be cleansed, and the permance of stains for I am only getting older too killing me way too slowly
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74
Comedy and tragedy never seem to be distributed evenly Not sure destiny would even recognize me Nor I it honestly But could it, would it, should it be able too avoid me deliberately? Surely if I coulda, I woulda and probably shoulda taken it more seriously I know this is my millionth apology, That's not lost on me I'm so sorry that I happen to be so sorry If you could find it in your heart too forgive me It'd be Just another thing that I envy Endlessly For all of eternity ©2024
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Mar 29, 2024
Mar 29, 2024 at 6:18 PM UTC
~•§•~ Coulda, Woulda, Probably Shoulda ~•§•~
threading my fingers through your pink hair warm silence rises out of open mouths rose skin and water lilies float above water
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Sep 1, 2021
Sep 1, 2021 at 8:09 PM UTC
3/29/21
Sa lahat ng mga bumati gayon din po sa mga nakaalala Ngayon ako po'y tumabi Sa gilid, kalakip ang Pagpapala ramdam man ang talab ng Araw sa aking balat Tila ba hapding may Alab na dulot ng tama ng Bala itong Nilalaman ng aking isip at nais mailipad ng aking pisi yaring mga katagang may talas Ngunit sa Tugmaan po ay salat Gayon ma'y ipinaaabot ko pa rin sa Tala Sa tulong ng hanging merong tubig alat Ngunit di kailan man mangangalawang ang taos puso kong pasasalamat sa lahat sapagkat paikot-ikotin man ang radar.. .......Ang radar ay radar pa rin kahit pa takasan at baliktarin! Sa ating lahat...Umagang Kay ganda Simula na muli ng bagong pag-asa ©November 02,2020
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Nov 1, 2020
Nov 1, 2020 at 6:02 PM UTC
ALAALA
I write this to get your attention, This piece doesn’t convey any meaning Whatsoever; this one is just for your love; For sometimes I need this; just as you are In need of love and Hahahhah Attention Oh my It’s hard not to laugh at the view of a Space expanding ever Oh sh f it s hard to strain oneself Yourself Myself From Ohhhhh haha haha Oh you can’t Thou canst not even picture it O my head so a jumble man Yo bruh sez myman how come you are so high so low so late time eh Oh it bothers you you little sh Come here and I sho The broken glass and spilled kvas I was just a child that time The splinters in my ankles and thighs It hurts all the same O Right I forgot what it was all about Never mind Happy new cycle Piece **** pls
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Dec 31, 2019
Dec 31, 2019 at 5:01 PM UTC
Attention-begetter (P.S. it’s all a lie)
Life has been Interesting over time I have this raw drive, hot from the yellow Sun, and with feet still lazy the Moon is pushing me to run fast Live enormously Stop pleasing mean friends Who reveal nothing sad Their one lie is yet to be used up
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Dec 25, 2019
Dec 25, 2019 at 12:21 PM UTC
A different vibration
A greater cause, means a better life. Or atleast so they voice. But how do you fight for what is right; when all you dispose of is knife? I ask myself who is my greatest enemy? Is it me, myslef, or I? Mybe all I need is a remedy. To make all the wrong rectify. I know that all of what I am capabe of holding is a weapon. But how do you use such a thing when you can't tell the difference between your foe and your allies? All I see are demons who seem to have come from the heart of heaven. But afetr all, isn't that everybodies homeland. Even the devil knows all of its alleys. But mybe weapons as deadly as they can be, are the more or less something like you and me. Mybe they weren't found for the unique cause of killing. Pedro Reyes made weapon in art fullfilling. What was war's greatest tool. Has now become harmony's moor. What was used in fights caused by sheer unreason. Has now brought all people even. All those cries, all those tries. And I still can't realize: what on earth can possibly be my cause.
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Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 4:24 PM UTC
The Cause Of A Weapon Named Me
and she doesn't care about my hair or my car she's only in it for the size of my heart
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Sep 11, 2019
Sep 11, 2019 at 1:46 PM UTC
Size Matters
Minutes til I get to u Spiral my visions into inspirations I don’t get it Why ppl keep telling me LOVE IS BLIND Love is sweet and KIND But doesn’t grow Always in sunshine Through the storm I’ve groomed and grown Knowingly The whole time I was not alone Never will I be A QUEEN helped me see Tough love An empty home No voices No children No kisses til the crack of dawn Just the sound of me On my own I’ve trained and prepared To be everything You see You showed me The greatest version of me Tears and all You cried I cried We felt our love For each other In our hearts When I hear about Our time apart Not a word to speak Distance You described me To the T Trying to avoid the thoughts Smiling at your voice The softness of your touch Even as I think I feel your body Against me How can this be? This **** chemistry **** this **** FREQUENCY I love you Not to the moon and back That I can’t say My love for you Is so STRONG That we create our own GALAXY I don’t care What anyone says I’m here Step by step Day by day Prayer by prayer I mediate with FULL FAITH Our love continue to grow Fine with age
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Sep 6, 2019
Sep 6, 2019 at 3:05 AM UTC
Blindly Seen: