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Samantha Nguyen Jul 2018
can you promise me
that you won’t commit suicide.
so there will be a
          slight chance that you’ll
          inhabit my future.
we could do amazing things together.
                    (...make happy memories and
                    have fights that will be made up…)
it’ll be a great story to tell our children—
          (a great story indeed).
i promise that you’ll be satisfied—
          (you’ll be satisfied).
i don’t care about the hugs and kisses.
                    (...that’s not love…)
          (definitely not love.)
love is being with who makes you happy.
          (you make me very happy).
i promise that you’ll be happy—
          (i’ll make a million promises).
                    (...that will be kept…)
but can you promise that there will be a future.
          for there to be a future,
          you must stay alive.
                    (...don’t die, i love you…)
Sofia Von Jun 2013
All we really want is to make our mark

Getting caught up in the what and the how
We loose track of our ground, our feet
That have been in motion since breath
And there we’ve already begun
And left remains

Our desire for remembrance clouds
Our ability to pulse in the zone
We currently inhabit

Like animals we compete
To find the best of the best and the rest aren’t important?

The dew of the new is just as fresh as the old ones tale revived
on a cold night but
by the summer sun
I am scorched
By each,
equal
Eric W Jun 2018
Watch me as I fall
without you.
I've spent years
perfecting this dark energy;
you are not the first
to leave me longing.
Watch closely.
I can build a statue
from ashes,
inhabit order
surrounded
by chaos.
Watch as I consume,
without myself,
myself.
I can fall,
but I cannot fail.
Watch.
You only scratched
the surface
of who I was
and am,
but you let loose this
agony -
my flood,
my fuel.
Ever since I was a young teenager, I've worked on ways to turn my hurt and anger into something that betters my current situation. This is no different - let's see what comes.

Daily edit: I’m humbled to be chosen as the daily.  It’s an unbelievable honor. Thank you so much for the love and comments. Haven’t been super active lately because life, but I love you all.
Hollow Steve Jul 2015
Catapault me into chaos,
I wish to get a little closer.
Your tainted eyes speak to me.
I wish to get to know you,
just a little bit better.

If I can handle it,
I'll stick around and play.
Too much pain is a killjoy.
If it burns too much,
I'll blow out the fire someday.

Criss-crossdresser,
I'm seduced into your submission.
My identity remains in shambles,
I'll see you on the otherside,
as I walk through this transition.

A possible phase,
or a permanent reside?
I am lost in mindless self indulgence.
If I dance in the rain,
I'll no longer have to hide.

An eternal blue flame,
made of youth and spirit.
Love could only feed the madness.
To remain the same,
is something my mind could never inhabit.

So dance, and dance,
and sing the tunes of duality.
I experiment with composure.
And once I find balance,
my dream will be that much closer
JS CARIE Apr 2018
During her blood moon was the best time to make her moan,
make her legs shake and weak,
Feel her scratch down my arms and peel up my skin
Only 3 days it would last
but during those periods...
she would release multiple times
With the red moons spawn
a bear in the woods would evolve,
hunting her flood through a blessed disaster
finding what I was after,
in a late night spatter
Her finger tips hiding
the stake in my pants,
she'll soon be riding
In these moments I feel a crave,
a longing to misbehave,
Within blankets and sheets we inhabit this cave
Our leveled off breathing
will not reveal harm
Take shelter in the warm of more than apparent
and reside until morning in the arms of the inherent
Bus Poet Stop Jul 2017
months since last eye writ, your eyes most likely have never crossed mine.  still inhabit the buststops, now called bus shelters though they are not a "shelter in place" place, but a crossroads where the poor and rich, the youthful and the nearer-to-god-than-thee sit bearer nearer to each other when they reside in the equality of the moments that are globally know as
    "waiting for the bus"
or as
     "waiting for Godot".

eyes have seen buses in Rio and Delhi that carried livestock and more humans on the exterior than the interior.  

but mine eyes are in a slow fade away mode, dimming in a final
sun setting  so u are needed.  
give me your bus stories yearning to he free and I will give you
my imagined ones
for are not all bustop poems are imaginary?
RA Jan 18
the gap between filling my eyes
with your picture and running
my lips down your thighs, kissing
you so that fold appears
between your eyebrows, filling
my mouth with you, watching you unfold
beneath me and tracing
every letter in this unending love letter I would like to play out for you on every soft space you inhabit
is unbearable.
I don't know how to stop missing you.

ajf

17:53
January 18, 2019
Daan Vandelay May 2014
I'm an island, in a lake in a big
city. The water around me is deep
and foggy, the hills I carry, steep
but soft, even sinkier, dig
your own way out.

Or in,
making the mill spin,
caught a swimming trout.
With bare hands I touched
With bare hands I clutched

I was told to bend
not break.
I want to spend
more time to make

this work.

Inhabit my world,
enjoy my fruits and trees and nature
enjoy me, live me,
hair, uncurled, major
mistakes, set straight, be,
dare to be,
loved.
L B May 2017
There should be wings of a hundred birds
to churn this scorch with breeze
to dry sweat
shade glare
to soothe the ache
of a post-noon day

There should be varied
and a thousand greens
with all betweens
of innumerable trees
till the blue of sky
blends their deference

And the river heaves its way along
ever on
eternal mission of earth
and...

...Heaven-- sure misses so much some days

Cool remote
Transcended as it be
Replete with rains
and relief of clouds
The Angelus in the distance....
with its affluent affinity for air

Revelers leave their party debris
for those making sure
not a sign is left....
We sort and fold, collapse and pack

Somehow between chairs, tables
cans and bottles, assorted trash

They come--

crouch on the levee
wander and stare
aimless amid tall dry weeds
Inhabit a bench, a moment--
Wild
filtering through our fabrication
Wind to dissipate our purpose
Trees invading abandoned fields

“The poor you have with you always”

“I'm not drunk,”
she drunkenly proclaims
to no one
except maybe….

Leaning over her opened beer
seated on bench adorably painted
with joyful hands

Who fondly held or hoped for her?
Before....
days of dirt troweled a shadow
in the sweat between her *******
Filthy tank that barely covers
derelict denial

How they find themselves established
as we make to leave
WE, of our homes and cars and jobs
and plans of escape

They--

of always
This was observed after an event supporting the rehabilitation of the Lackawanna River.
Umi Feb 2018
By my dearest angel Zadkiel as he moves in a clear path, round,
rhytmically, step by step his gears lead him through the passing time.
A golden sight, sparkling, twinkling from the reflection of light.
Locking me, tugging me, embracing me into the deepness of my
own thoughts, which unfold, bloom and become happy memories.
As reality and illusion become one, on the peak of their pleasure,
By time ticking on, now they share the same heart.
This golden coloured pocket watch, cuts through the darkness
within me, with my very own wishes as I yet sink deeper into
deeper thoughts, hypnotic, pleasant, I watch how the minute passes.
The memories created by these thoughts are becoming love,
So that the world I inhabit in is filled with even more light
Tick, tock, making delicate sounds, as he moves unconditionally,
Round and round again until the time has come and he is put to rest.
As then with newfound strengh, he repeats his daily duties as
an source of energy, an ember of determination enters him.
And so, another smile has been cast on me by his gentle movements.


~ Umi
ryn Aug 2014
Pen
This here...my heart is a book
Sadness and hope inhabit most pages
Marred by past experiences that took
Scribbled are the ironies and broken adages

Worn pages tainted by the lowest of my days
Dark ink leave them smeared and stained Fresh ones stay crisp; free from nays
Awaiting dreams and wishes I have not gained

Silent are the pages still left unwritten
As though I have saved them for something
For future chapters yet to happen
For you to come and begin your writing

Welcome the pen that would herald a new start
Imagined it's ink to bear the flightiest notions
It would speak in volumes ensnaring the heart
It would sing a song with the sweetest of emotions

Seep in, dear ink, into my pages past and new
Seep through, dear ink, feel free to make your mark
Seep strong, dear ink, maybe you could undo
Seep true, dear ink, and bring light to the dark

But rip not the old for they forever will speak
Lessons that are learnt, strength that was bestowed
Tears that's been shed, happiness that I seek
Gloom that was braved, hope that I have sowed

Come, my heart is your book
You are the sole pen to my infinite pages
Ink are your words that would fill every nook
Eternal is the bond that would last through ages

This here...the rest of the pages are yours
Occupy them as you have in my everyday
I was saving them not knowing my course
Almost as if I knew you'd come to pen the words you'd say

A promise as sure as the sun would rise
A promise made as good as the noblest of men
My book is open to our laughs and cries
As long as you would forever remain my pen
Umi Mar 2018
By my dear angel Sandalphon as he has been lead in my hand, leaving a clear trail of a cursive writing on a transient sheet of paper,
A crimson sight, so black that one would be caught in trance, reflected by unnatural light of a lamp flickering in the dark of the night, as his feather releases a sweet scent of fresh yet unused ink,
Together with Zadkiel's blooming and happy memories I then am capable to write such down, in an attempt to create poetry, focused,
The sound of scratchy, itchy, rasping echos through this room I inhabit, but already left spititually, engaged in the world of fantasy,
Word by word, the paper is penetrated by this pen, pleasantly, thoughtfully, gently sliding over it to not damage it by accident,
There is no need for haste, heartache nor rush, not is there the need to be concerned about this angels work, duty and his mission to accompany me throughout each and every writing which unfurls,
Alike a story from my mind, from my emotions, deepest wishes, cast on the physical realm with his help,
And once his strengh weakens, fades, loses might and goes out alike an dying ember he will be dunked in fresh ongoing determination, so that he can repeat his duties with exuberance, joy
Casting a smile on my face once literature has been created,
As then I lay my dark knight, my servant for the night to rest,
Until another poem has to be written and his duty awakens him,
After all, in this dreamlike tale it is well to remember;
You don't have to die in a dream

~ Umi
zebra Mar 2017
split the atom an we get fission
mass becomes energy
but can we split a second
enter the essence of the present
what would it mean to us
to be that mindful

ask your self doesn't your mind
only occupy past future
abjectly incapable of living in the present
in the true present there could not be even a ghost of a thought
theres no time to think

can we enter
an incalculable split second
and totally take in that instant
with a forgotten organic technology

is it the big bang in perpetuity
yet quiet as a mute
a raging ever expanding sea in a connected
but distinct dimension

if you entered it
would it not utterly erases all of history
the thinkers and doers along with it
the step beyond the alpha and omega
the great underlining reality

imagine the penetrated moment
an all consuming unimaginable
trans-mutational merge
omnipotent
yet forever imperceptible
to those among us
time locked
an irreducible limitation
like an ant in a closed paper bag
a fixated reflexive machine
wandering aimlessly
with an unknowable mission
and a relentless survival mechanism
with no chance of survival

time as a cosmic metabolism
its medium space
a vast cauldron
an infinite vessel containing endless points of light

everywhere
myriad phenomena
its terrain and the temporal creatures that inhabit it
both exquisite and hideous
an incalculable zoo
histories victors and victims
one and all vanquished
by the curse
consciousness of dis-juncture
a merciless countenance of limitation

yet could time be an illusion
rooted in a narrow awareness
bereft of an eternal
inexhaustible self effulgent now
the rapture
an eternal ******

if we could only ******* into it
would it swallow us
and blot out the drama of creations theater

is the
now
conscious
illimitable
ecstatic
a perfect meta moment ?

we hear from sacred texts
like the Vedas... Bhagavad Gita.... and Kabbalah
that we may enter beyond the veil
passed time and its ravages
passed mind and its distortions

not to the heaven of religion
in its endless
closed system precepts
anthropomorphic metaphors
theistic gobbledygook
and
sophomoric social engineering
a kind of cliffs notes
god for dummies

we can enter
the eternal abode of the divine
a point between
the splitting of seconds
revealed through the simple act of mindful breathing
pierced by the effort of a focused mind
we definitely can!
but do we dare?
Umi Feb 2018
The glory of the heavens which reflect such delicate blue,
Are alike a protective ceiling, keeping us safe from harm,
Where might this harm come from if above is empty space ?
Well, firstly it manages to brighten up the day more
Secondly it takes care of the sun's deadly rays, filtering,
purifying it in the most noble sense, a breathing sky.
The heavens far above are not without danger, but worry not,
for they are too far out of our reach, thus our eyes are the only,
fragile, valuable sense which is able to grap it's visibility,
Beyond this ceiling is where the stars inhabit, all of the planets too!
But the heaven is which gifts us the wonderful, stunning, warm,
bright colours of sunrise and sunset, thus alone is a reason to
love them furthermore.
In this wretched, corrupt and unrighteous world it is of great
importance to keep track of little things which cheer our way.
It could be a simple word, heaven or just the light of day.

~ Umi
I tried a new style once I hope it is somewhat enjoyable
Umi Mar 2018
Antimatter mirroring our existance on the pathway of a reverse world
Imagine it, time stands still, halts without a will to  continue its flow if it were to possess one to begin with, and everything is but fragile,
Illusionary moon, shine on in this distorted realm in which not even gravity is reliable or even trustworthy at this point, up is down here,
An imperishable night caught under a spell of eternity, uninterrupted
Everlasting, permanently shining, the fake moons appearance is clear,
Unremitting, sweetly told as a if it was a lie, the rumours of this world spread more likely like a disease through the ancient, young earth,
A line parallel drawn to ours, a dimension coexisting without sense,
It appears to be fragile, like a newborn child, the smallest disturbance would mostlikely ruin it's balance, bring tremor upon it wretchedly,
But where that life sparkles as then fades, two dimensions surely would overlap, of course, maybe it will be the world you inhabit, no?
In the realm of the dead, a loitering, lingering darkness thins the borders of reality and illusion, causing them to exist as one, now with the same heart and soul, a fantasy heaven which became reality,
After all, that place is only temporary,one surely could even call it a;
Short living eternity,

~ Umi
Umi Apr 2018
A sea of love,
Hard to find, yet refreshing as the sea of tranquility,
Love blooms on the water's surface, filled with joyful tears,
A moist mare of serenity, coming with the open eye of the heart, to embrace what it holds so dear, sincere, pure and precious,
Free of the cold, the warm water tugs its beloved into the deepness of the ocean, causing them to become lost in this sensational emotion,
Alike a holy place, the sky above is compareable to a sea where clouds inhabit; fluffy and comfortable, made in heaven,
But beware; beware of the mare of storms, the fight to the finish only the ocean of crisis has followed, patience has proven to be the key,
Sometimes, all it takes is an closed eye of love to witness the beauty of this world, beyond measure, may a sea expand in their hearts,
So that they may understand, that even the dark side beholds light,
So that it can be easier to coexist in peace, harmony and serenity,
Free from all what is bad, except the pure fury and hate against the worst of all deeds and of what follows them in this regard,
Maybe then, humans would understand; living is very beautiful


~ Umi
You ain't that dark
Little man
See, light abounds in the closets
you love to inhabit
But you've got your special glasses
"Fear goggles" if you will
So you continue to wander
Willfully lost
But is it fear
Fear that if found
You will be found... out
A fraud
A simpleton
A shallow nothing
What if
(the big question)
You ARE all those things
To someone ELSE
What if
You are nothing to
YOURSELF
What has changed
What has been taken
Nothing gained
Nothing lost
Only limited light in your dark world
The necessary concealer
The veil
The safe space
The thing that has defined you for so long you can't imagine being anything ELSE
But true definition, true being,
my friend
Is only achieved when you let some light in
CONTRAST
What a novel concept
(not really)
There is no light without dark
And no dark without light
And there is no humanity without a fair amount of both
Just a shallow false flat character
A Disney Villain
Living in a dark fantasy of their own making
Mohamed Nasir Oct 2017
Friendship is the lotus
Ranging along sociable
Intertwine networking
Every one in own world
No harm to go venturing
Dislike introverts. Water
Slide it's non stick leaves
Hold evaporator sun sip
Inhabit the entire idyllic
Pond of their friendship
Lotus are sociable plants. They soon cover the whole area of the pond or lake
Umi Jun 2018
A somber feeling, carried by pure agony,
Flowing, drifting, swiftly in the stream of thoughts, as the spilled pieces just have vanished, never to be whole again, or gazed upon,
The pieces of a time crafted in blessed and happy thoughts,
Swaying back and forth, the once illuminated, azure heaven far above is darkening with ominous looking, thick, yet allure thunderclouds,
Perhabs once this sky has cleared up again, this scene will shine just as majestic as it did before, without worry nor care, without pain.
Ah, phantoms.
I would like to lose myself in this wandering fragnance of what used to be a wonderous and amortal spring dream, created in plain fantasy
But after the city already lost its colour to the obscure horizon,
I realised you were no longer here with me,
And the pieces of a past long gone, have cut my skin before vanishing
Chasing a brighter past caused the future, knocking on my door to be dark, yet such emotions made the world I inhabit a cold, lonesome but also a very gentle place,
Even if tomorrow were never to come,
I wouldn't be able to care less,
For now, just let me rest my eyes.

~ Umi
Poem no.170 yay!
shiv Oct 2018
Every time you laugh i'm caught in the edges of an abyss,
like i'm drowning in the constant birth and death of a star.
and I cant help but wonder if this is all you’ve ever been.
The flesh and bones you inhabit now.
I can't help but wonder if you watched from the edges of the earth
and saw humanity love and die and wonder what it would be like,
to  live a life where you were something other than ash in the wind.
Harriet Cleve Jul 2018
The past is buried in an unmarked grave

infinity x people lie amongst the mathematicians

the bankers, the capitalists, the communists,

nuns and priests from long forgotten orders

writers, poets, madmen

believers in Dostoevsky



politicians and soldiers lying side by side

Guevara and Kennedys

reeking of decomposed causes


their headstones inhabit this planet

struggles, dreams, poverty, indifference


Only the living remain to frighten young children

in gardens of festering weeds


Amongst the survivors walks the big ******* war

whose parentage dresses in many flags

holding hands with the spectres of illusion

in this calamitous circus of humanity


the past is buried in an unmarked grave

and still it is hunted

it's rotten body and brittle bones

clutching it's precious treasure


the future carrying a ***** and death still the scythe

eager for the digging

anxious to turn the soil


the past is buried in an unmarked grave

leave it alone

let it rest in peace
astiani hayn Oct 2018
there's a monster in me.
it keeps whispering things. so loud. that my mind could burst anytime soon.
inhabit, control, taking over; messing me up inside.
oh mama, i must obey it,
the one i shouldn't commit.
oh mama, how could i live?
in a body i cannot forgive.
please mama, bring some water; pour me the rain, a very heavy rain.
embrace me, hug me, drown me—wiped it all the monster away,
i don't think i could find any other way.
it's a world mental health today, so here a piece of mine that talks about schizophrenia. I haven't meet one, but seeing all who's suffering ****** through online videos just really break my heart. Mental health issue is real and it's matters. And please everyone if you happened to read this, kindly donate what you can afford and above all, what your heart says. No matter how much it cost, it will matters, and they deserve all of our prays. Thank you
Umi Jul 2018
This dream will continue,
Now that we switched our places, it's the bad dream we had,
Not thinking about what may be lost in this illusion, such foolishness,
My soul is flying through space in an never ending voyage,
It is the world of nightmares you wished for, for it is enlessly dark.
A world never to be seen before, trapped within the corners of your mind, I assume this means our paths will now seperate and vanish,
The compensation of a heart that was meant to break from the start,
No matter what we may do, this dream, our dream, will continue,
Since this life seems so wonderfully unreal, sorrowful pleasant,
I have already lost myself in the wandering fragnance of nature,
A dream makes it feel real, but you already have gone missing,
When everything else seems to be unrealistic or corrupted,
The embrace of slumber and the sweet feeling of rest may create a wonderful place to inhabit, even if it is just for a very little while,
Don't cry in my arms, don't wetten my robe, you can always come back, to enjoy the sweetness of those nightmares,
Now we are even.

~ Umi
Ken Rafiñan Apr 2018
She was red-light flawless:
districts of ephemeral perfection luxuriating on along sensual stretches.

The unmistakable presence of a woman;
some sense of the sublime:
its invisible edge cleaving my being wide open upon its passing.

The glitter of her dark eyes
a secret signal
tempting me toward sensual settings:
situations whose scents pull on plots pushing potent agendas
and explosive endings.

Ancient intersections awash with new blood;
a warm awakening of an almost forgotten biology.

Our contours resolve an oft-imagined samba.

Her hourglass orbit caresses kisses all over our angular philosophy;
some sympathy—
please!—
for the existentialists transpiring in all of us.

A distinctly human complexity that’s haphazardly indignant,
and disturbed only by the tediousness of interstellar transmission.

Into a feathery instability the thread digresses,
then back to hormonal flushes it fluxes,
and by its muscled materiality it flexes.

From ingress to egress:
defined by an awkward acceleration
of her truth’s unrefined relativity:
its complicity
in multiplicity
a welcome duplicity.

Pause: a space apropos: somewhere between ellipses and apostrophes.

A much need riposte from a feminine intensity most imperative.

Tomorrow is another day
and also a night:
further discourse in the eternal struggle
of leaving that her,
losing this me,
and living as we.

The de-territorialization of our skin maps out a dystopic equilibrium:
a chaotic futurescape that only the likes of our they can inhabit.

A final monolith reads: The Grand Narrative of Us.
*Filipino uses the gender-neutral "siya" to refer to a human agent-object.

This ambiguity is the space that the implied actors in this scene inhabit.
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