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Rob K Dec 2019
Though I use the word all the time...
I've found it's the most repulsive, letter past A.
Even, as I sit here writing.
I wish I had, a different way to say.

That I, should you ever find one.
Is actually beautiful, when you pair it with me...
Yet another word, I have avoided.  
Because me, is often the only thing, many seem to see.

But if you spent your life trying.
Trying to make, something out of your me...
While crying alone feeling parched and dieing.
As though a cast away, drifting alone out through the sea.

You just might find, your other I sighing.
Alone and oarless, but also fighting.
Fighting for just one chance to see.
Their savior, but clearly not me.

Until, your lonesome rafts merge.
Like two great currents, longing to be...
Reunited, after their births,
From distant frozen memories, that no one should have ever seen.

You might find, you both share a warmth.
Crafted by how, you've both drifted from so far.
A warmth that hides you amongst each other,
Making hit hard to see, where once, you did start.

But suddenly, as now kind fate would have it.
You no longer care where you once started, or where you now end.
As you two, have finally come together.
It's like heaven said, your lives can finally begin.
If you met your clone... And found her to be your soulmate...
Poetic T Mar 2018
We are all zombies
          of the institution,
when will stop following
the others that walk through
life feeding of others misfortune..

Break the shackles of life,
               don't walk, run free.
Be yourself not a clone stumbling
on roads to no where..
      Walk paths that others fear to tread.
in
yes
terd
ay
s
questions
another breath
from yester
day
wont fit
?














...
..
.
spank bait
...
..
.
Star BG Jan 2018
Since parallel worlds
exist in universe
where
soul self experiences
more than one lifetime simultaneously,

I
ask
myself
if I had a double
what would they be like?

Would they dress in my style
or as clone
be barely recognizable?

Would They sing in shower,
and write poetry with passion?
Or enjoy swimming with dolphins?

Would they at a moments notice
dance in supermarket aisles?
Or dress as a clown to entertain
young and old?

If time lines collapsed
causing both worlds to merged
and we looked in mirror,

I
Ask
Myself
would fear overtake
or would we celebrate.

I think
we would rock in oneness
accepting any traits developed
for the good of soul.

And celebrate
the divine magic of the Universe
with glass held high
(or not cause I don’t drink liquor
only energies of love
bottled in heart where
hug replaces glass.)
I watched a You Tube about  doubles that merge
from parallel universes.
M Harris May 2017
Transitory Light & Supernova Streaks,
Her ****** Hues Blooming In Rhythmic Techniques,

As Her Elemental Vanity Circles The Clones,
She ***** My Sanity With Her Illuminated Tones,  
Euphoric Comprehensions Etched In Her Holographic Moans,
In Seductive Dimensions She Reveals Her Pornographic Unknowns,

Serene Luminescence Of Her Prodigal Demise,
Procreating In Her Decays of Her Astral Guise,
Psychotropic Debris Caressing Her Reprise,
Stardust Petals Confessing Her Eyes,

Sulphur Promises In Her Trapped Desire  
Vicious Bouquets Of Her Nocturnal Fire,
The Carnival Flirts In Her Melodic Choir,

Futile Rage Gracing In Her Satire,  
Tranquil Stitches Glimmering In Saffire,
Encrypted In Cold And Catatonic Bonfires,

Illustrious Grandeur In Her Chimerical Verse,
Rudimentary Amour of her metaphysical universe,  
Blows of Blues Metamorphosing In Floral Curse,  

Entropic Cassettes & Blossoms In Her Cigarettes,
As The Process Resets & She Mutates Into Velvet.

- 06:24 AM
Natalie Neo Jun 2016
I found your clone.

Someone who smiles like you,
put arms around me like you,
love like you,
cries like you.

But as long as I can't find something
he does better than you.

He is a clone,
And you are still you.
Colleen Lyons May 2015
Tattooed and holding cleavers,
we chop off our limbs
to give as random gifts
and lop off each other’s
to sew onto ourselves

between rotting brown brick towers
on infinitely numbered streets
in dim drywall suites
all along the gray, hazy horizon

hanging rusting lamps
flicker incandescent light and

swing above our pill heads
whose floating eyes
dilate
to watch drops of blood
mix
as the needle and thread
yank us closer to becoming
clones.
Megan H Jul 2014
"You don't look like you write poetry.."
Well, why not?
Is it because I am an athlete?
Is it because you misinterpret my personality?
Is it so hard to believe,
I can put my thoughts down
In a way I feel better?
Tell me,
Tell me please.
What does a poet look like?
Do all of them look the same?
Act the same?
Messy hair and beanies.
Scarves and hot tea.
Hipsters.
Suicidal or lovestruck.
Black or white.
The "artsy" types.
Typical stereotypical ideas of poets.
But we are not the same.
We are all different,
Except for one thing,
We all understand each other.
So please never judge me again,
Just because you don't understand
Our world.
Don't assume things about others. You may be surprised.
Thandiwe Jun 2014
Views, words and set rules.
Time has befriended me yet I have no time for anything.
Resting. Soul has searched and found nothing.
“Our souls have long bonded before our bodies met.”
Cling to that hope, string of regret.
Soon or not…life will begin.
Stamped under society’s sin,
Has there been a vision of a better love.
Connected beyond what we’ve been taught.
Pave these paths to suite our walks still to be covered.
Dreams to be recovered, leave behind. The clones looking forward to the “to happen.”
Why then do they have eyes aglow with questions.
Pre-requsit of past mistakes they’ve imprinted themselves on my decisions.
Correct the false generations.
Exhausted by the dawns of more downs.
These upset frowns, mistaken for unknown smiles.
Taken miles to revolutionise these minds.
No where near the assigned soul.
Gauge out centres of my gold.
No return it feels, cheap thrills.
What a stony journey,
Breezy by and sweeping away reality.
Have we still got the trust instilled,
Is He still enthroned, why then do times keep us so constantly disturbed.
No more entrance nor exists…
When his beauty drown this sadness.
Why has so much of me been robbed?
Swapped by weary and exhausted pieces held together by hope.
So much sense has been polluted,
Left hallow and un-rooted.
Abundantly blessed and grateful for the joys. Seamed together with blinding glows.

— The End —