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dedpoetPoems
I must readily admit I am guilty of this deep pleasure When it suits me to find a justifying reason to do so,      But like a sweaty fat man Waiting in line at an out door Restroom, I must admit that I find it Quite uncomforting when I find one written about me,     As good as it may be, Some lines genius and genuine Grasping me to a T;    I feel naked as a blank paper Being written over and told this Is what I will be, or am,     Or will never achieve, Archived in a thought,     Popping my bubble of Existence and letting a stanza Didctate my life's Unfortunate, But very well writ poem Stake me in the soul,      How well they know me, Plagiarism of my own Confessions, And I realise They are just peices of poetry I have pasted in the past Cleverly put together In some Rondeau' or Dickinson flurry,     And wonder what the truth About a plagiarism's gambit,     Hoping to nail me onto The front page wall,    Disguised as poetic license To hang me out in the open, Yet I have seen these lines,     And no one can expose Themselves better than I,    Read between the lines And there is a hint of envy, The honor becomes mine.
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Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
On Writing Poems Based On Others Poems
I must readily admit I am guilty of this deep pleasure When it suits me to find a justifying reason to do so,      But like a sweaty fat man Waiting in line at an out door Restroom, I must admit that I find it Quite uncomforting when I find one written about me,     As good as it may be, Some lines genius and genuine Grasping me to a T;    I feel naked as a blank paper Being written over and told this Is what I will be, or am,     Or will never achieve, Archived in a thought,     Popping my bubble of Existence and letting a stanza Didctate my life's Unfortunate, But very well writ poem Stake me in the soul,      How well they know me, Plagiarism of my own Confessions, And I realise They are just peices of poetry I have pasted in the past Cleverly put together In some Rondeau' or Dickinson flurry,     And wonder what the truth About a plagiarism's gambit,     Hoping to nail me onto The front page wall,    Disguised as poetic license To hang me out in the open, Yet I have seen these lines,     And no one can expose Themselves better than I,    Read between the lines And there is a hint of envy, The honor becomes mine.
dedpoet
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dedpoet
38/M
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
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