hopeless scrawls on dogeared paper
holding on to my paper love
folded and unfolded
again and again
the words you sent me
mean nothing now
but oh so splendid
when they did
the worn folds
and turned edges
fluffed and whiskered
simple words on a note
held for many years
and what you wrote
lay in my hands
a thousand silent
times, and perhaps
a thousand many more.

I won't pleasure you with spit and sputter,
but you will be outed,
cause you didn't cover your tracks that well

one question
before you are deposed.

when you ******* after
you steal somebody else's poem,
do you *** in you hand
or all over you keyboard?

sure hope its the latter.

I see they are deleting your poems, even your
Semi-Original *** shots.

But you said it best your self:

Here's a little secret
I just want to mean something to somebody. I feel so worthless nowadays.

even If stolen from Alice Baker,
I applaud your self selection,
and via your theft,
introducing me to many other fine poets