Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Copycat, copycat.
Mimic all that I do,
Even though
you know
it's not good for you.

Copycat, copycat.
Do not be a fool.
You can fool
So many people.
But not me;
I will not drool
All over you.

Copycat, copycat.
Giveback my life.
No, I do not care if copying me is how you survive.
No, I hate you a lot... so goodbye.

Copycat, copycat.
I shouldn't call you so:
You're a *****, and I hope that you know.
I appoint you head ***** from now on.
Bam! Scram!
It's about time that you've gone.
Ahaha this is a phat mood
Its like I sit and watch the world go by cruisng to oldies,
feeling new inside, but outside is a face of a man who will attack if you dont know me.
gut instinct is below me homie, piece of mind,
dont change your words if you cant cash the truth but besides that...
See im not perfect I lost ties and made knots that made me fall from my own tension with no intentions to stand even if I can, I cant, im grounded by my mistakes that relvolve around me, reminding me what I did made me what I am.
AS I stay subsiding in a position thats clearily hiding,
binding my chest compressed against my last breath , to save what little life I have left in a world where title nor status mean nothing when your an ******* to those you called your best interest I do confess im that lowlife as i cruise still music speak to my esscense releiving me for those seconds im just a person again but after that im back at it again

..I dont write for pitty so let that be known, im just here to vent this steam that once stood ablazed passion for a love that is now a shack of memories in my head of your smile and gestures a feeling I onced called home now ruins from what i ruined, foolish I am.
Clueless more than anything to let many so many slip away im the worst fisherman of love.
because I use my soul as bait, and little by little i let the big ones escape an take chunks of me away to a place I can never retrieve it, so believe it im that space
im that vessle ive became the shell of a hermit , hollow and skirmish.
Tarnished, and used,
debri left as rubble to make roads,
but none to pave my own cause I have no resources
cause im that alone....****,
maybe I can just leave it for those who wish me back if I do something foolish like giveback the life Ive live, for a plaque and a name and a date?
or should I just lookback and keep cruisin passed the bruissin and showin scars of my mistakes as a human,
all I know is....nothing,
and thats why I stay cruissin, freedom of the road and music,
away from the world and my ruins.



-Deep Though aka
Linguist Musician
aka Emmanuel Hernandez
EAHutch Apr 2014
There is a girl who I wish I was.
she has a vase of dying daisies next to her bed
and she has holes in the bottom of her boots
but imperfection is beauty
She has learned to live with what she has.
She has learned to forget what she doesn’t.

There is no such thing as negativity
or a word to speak bad about someone else
she has learned to accept.
she dreams through a field of flowers and blue sky
that goes on forever
and she understands the concept of time
present only lasts for so long
present will eventually fade into future
and past can be forgotten or remembered
Things heal.
Things get better.

She empties her pockets of change on the street
and never asks or expects anything back
because she knows how to care about others
more then herself
knows what struggle is
and she puts pity to a perspective
of making a difference

She sees herself as no better then anyone else
she measures giving and happiness
on a scale of equality
and she doesn’t keep track of how much help she has given
because she always has more to give
So there will never be a final total

She woke up late this morning
and she bashed her toe in the door
and she slipped on the sidewalk
and she forgot her books
and to eat breakfast
and everything has gone the wrong way.

But everybody struggles.
and complaints are meaningless words
to fill the space
they are ****** up by people
and build habits of unhappiness
in a place of unsatisfaction
things can always be worse.

She has learned to live with what she has.
She has learned to forget what she doesn’t.
She has learned to forgive and giveback.
Everyday there will be a sunrise
and a sunset
and the hours in-between
and after dark
will end.
They will not be wasted.
Twas accursed destiny
     since birth alack
nascent emasculation abominable barrack
emergent deus ex machina,

     viz zit ting older sibling counterattack
thirteen plus chronological gap
    eldest sister struck like diamondback
surrogate "mother" role

     assumed tubby exact
protectorate pseudo fullback
against cruel beastie boys
     bullying barbs

     comeuppance giveback
pummeling spongiform
     gray matter (yours truly)
     fisticuffs she didst highjack

proxy mothering
     kept corporeal essence intact
jilting nefarious nemesis aligned
     (maligning) and stalking,

     this fee-fi-fo-fum
     ordinary bean sized Jack
are runt (arrant) cowardly
     (non lion) nerdy lad owning a knack
courage lack this glum

     older married chap doth adumbrate
     satisfactory accomplishments lack
king, where crazy quilt aimless wandering
     described purposeless multitrack

thus, sympathetic
     to hue men/women nonblack
or decimated aborigines
     once populating Australian outback

existential nihilism would,
     undergirding hypothetical
     unwritten paperback
with little need to prevaricate,
     nor appear as quack

***, one measly **** sapiens,
     who accrued millennial palimpsest zeitgeist
     where, punctured
     disequilibreated psyche dust rack

asper protean (in utero)
     multitudinous setback
soundlessly resonating
     with concussive thwack

as this rickety ship of state
     (a haunted junk ket)
     unwanted emotional ballast to unpack
asseveration, asper assiduously

     preferably welcoming
     dry suction no vac
jar this pawn (knight wannabe
     in his bishop rick) torrid

     me psychological wrack
king within (castle keep)
     complex edifice shackled
     in dungeon with repast constituting.
Petersen House, Washington, D.C.

I admit to own a passion
for the Civil War in general,
and the life and death of
the sixteenth president in particular
between a hard spot of whiskey
and draughts of arrack;
nonetheless (without doubt), this Yankee
would be fain to travel back
to Antebellum America
amidst the urban din and clack

where smelting earsplitting,
choking industrialization
a deaf fin hit drawback,
and where dark shadows cast an eternal
edge of night twilight zone pallor
tubby somewhat exact
from mighty robber barons,
who tolerated no flack
(nope not even Roberta)
despite the bleeding nose against grindstone
inhumanity bearing down hard
with very little giveback
viz zit head as greenback

yes...no matter the noxious
crash course urbanization
(and attendant ghettoization)
breeding a lung wrenching tuberculosis hack,
this twenty first century middle aged
married man (an average Monterey Jack
***), whose sought after
claim to fame penchant
modestly admits to **** knack

crafting literary concoctions with no lack
of ideas, where one arose
strong as an oncoming mack
truck (this vibrant fascination
with the American Civil War
(even before Ken Burns popularized
calamitous event) in non black
and white (digitally remastered technicolor)
exemplified, enumerated, and emphasized
how a minor dispute got way off,track
whereat stately commander in chief did pack
a punch analogous sans, barreling forth
like unstoppable quarterback
despite his six foot four inch
gangly physique cull rack
tried his darnedest,
(or substitute unprintable epithet)
yet a coterie of anti war subjects
figuratively and literally up in arms

wanted nothing less to sack
the sixteenth president,
whose aged fifty seven year old countenance
one month after
Ides of March death didst dance
during the low key celebration sans,
internecine bloodbath Grants'
and Lees' armistice
one hundred and fifty seven years ago;

the peace treaty signed
(April 9th, 1865) at Appomattox,
an irrevocable agony did blow
when that fateful, mournful,
somber night at Ford's Theater
the grim reaper didst appear
(like Jim) crow king
ably linkedin with Reconstruction
after one shot rang out blasting,
where crimson tide didst flow
drowning American history
at that juncture grow

wing no less painless today, which hoo
veer ring agony didst smite
incomprehensible cleft mow
wing down unfinished ambition, which no
one other than Abraham Lincoln could sow
the racial rift, that slavery trucked in tow
generations shackled with compounded woe

that fateful April 15, 1865
at approximately 10:20 p.m
one hundred plus fifty seven years; it's been
long since deceased taking deadly
gunshot punctuated deadly din,
whence fifteen plus decades passed sans
conspirator tried to get even
at Ford’s theater – forever
eviscerating thin lipped grin
of the sixteenth president - still
his unrealized promising dreams with in

Reconstruction paradigm presses
historians to speculate what kin
ship his unrealized post-bellum blueprint
while he sat in his booth,
attended a performance of the comedy
Our American Cousin that night
when a bullet entered below
the president's left ear,
bored diagonally through his brain
and stopped behind his right …

wrought him slumped over,
now tis 7 score + 17 years witnessed
assassination of Abraham Lincoln
team of rivals mastermind, re: the
American Civil War wreck con struck shin
yet…his positive affects find him
honored with outsize depictions and a con tin
hue wing legacy sustained, whereby
hearts and minds he posthumously did win.

Said enigmatic man shrouded and idolized
with beatific, democratic essence
fantastic, honorific, pacific aura, dogma,
and persona with meager off fence
to generations of United States citizens –
enthralled ladies and gents
whose reverberations and ramifications

of humane karma lives on – hence
begotten progeny enjoying freedoms
perchance ensconced with rapt innocence
or those inured with sensibility and sense
can bequeath pride without prejudice
whether living in splendour or in tents
toward Illinois railroad log splitter,
whose humble roots forged steely covenants.
Twas accursed destiny
since birth (maybe coded in
deoxyribonucleic acid  
since time immemorial) alas and alack
nascent emasculation abominable barrack
emergent deus ex machina,
one common Joe biden his time
for no particular
rhyme nor reason
revisiting mine days of yore,
when protectiveness courtesy
older sibling come
from behind ruthless counterattack.

All equivocation aside,
she/her thirteen plus months
and twelve days
constituted chronological senior gap
eldest sister struck like diamondback
against bullies who targeted me
as a poor defenseless “scape goat”
surrogate "mother" role
assumed tubby exact
protectorate viz pseudo fullback
against cruel foo fighting beastie boys
hurling black barbs
firing verbal slings and arrows.

Escapist exploits to cope
being brutalized, and traumatized
synonymous when Brian Williams,
(not the newscaster,
but neighborhood school chum,
who shared same namesake)
we imagined ourselves
courageous dauntless explorers
while toying with his beebee gun.

Mein kampf one after another
against relentless barrage of flak
comeuppance effected giveback
pummeling spongiform mine
now sixty plus shades gray matter
fisticuffs sister didst highjack
proxy mated mothering
kept corporeal essence intact
jilting nefarious nemesis aligned
jumpstarting, maligning, and stalking.

This fee-fi-fo-fum
bling ordinary bean sized Jack
err runt (arrant) cowardly
(fee lion) dorky and nerdy lad
owning nada knick knack
paddy whack give my dog a bone
a fide scaredy cat,
he/him an aging baby boomer
older married chap doth adumbrate

satisfactory accomplishments lack
king, where crazy
quilt aimless wandering
described purposeless multitrack
thus, sympathetic, and empathetic
to hue men/women nonblack
or decimated aborigines
once populating Australian outback
existential nihilism would,

undergirding hypothetical
unwritten paperback
with little need to prevaricate,
nor appear as quack
***, one measly **** sapiens,
who accrued millennial
palimpsest gestalt zeitgeist
where, punctured, and zapped
disequilibrium created

psyche dust rack
asper protean (in utero)
multitudinous setback
soundlessly resonating
with concussive thwack
as this rickety ship of state
(never confused as fêted junket)
unwanted emotional ballast to unpack
asseveration, asper assiduously

preferably welcoming
dry suction no vac
jarring this pawn (knight wannabe
in his bishop rick) torrid
me psychological wrack
king within (castle keep)
complex edifice shackled
in dungeon with repast constituting
present day long winded conversations,
where she volubly talk yakety yak.

— The End —