Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
And I know time isn’t in our hands.
Still move with life, or watch it move
on without you. Either you walk with
time, or time walks away from you.

They gave you a one-star review for
your love, judged your heart, spat into
your scars, dragged your name through
the mud. Still, don’t paste their words
onto your heart.

Because when you live a better life, they’ll
circle back to copy. You’ll ask yourself,
“why do the ones who once overlooked
me now want to over-book me… or cop me?”

All the seconds you felt like sloppy seconds
will become the taste of their main course.
And what they called leftovers is the meal
they'll hunger for the most.

Remember:

Time is a thief, it steals your hours, your hope,
your years. But don’t let wasted time rob you  
of what’s real. Don’t let it steal the reason you live.
JAM Oct 2022
"So the pen is mightier? who'da'thunk'it."
He said to the bleeding man tied down
to a messed, stained, bed.

The bound man figured,
even though he just got
to an LA plagued
by criminals, killers, and copy-cats,
that he wasn't getting out of here whole,
finally.

Holding a pen knife,
red-faced and sweating,
was his captor.
It had been a struggle
to awake and realize
who stood before him:
Quill.

The exact killer he'd been looking for.
He had heard about him in the Halo Herald,
An LA pun, it's not very popular,
but he liked the funny section.

"Are you just going to stand there?"
The bound man says, eagerly,
"Hey bud, you're the hanged man,
I'll do the talking."

"It's about time!"

"huh?"

"I'd been waiting.
heard you'd be at that
open mic. Knew you liked
the mealy type."

"Shuddup or I'll write you off."

Quill runs his pen knife over the bound man's right cheek.

"Stings a little.
Usually, I start with a rufie
and emotional damage.
But it looks like you
want to cut to the chase.
I'm a man of a similar mind.
spirit.
problem."

"Nobody's like me dude."

The bound man locks eyes with Quill.

"What're your trophies? huh?
I read you like to drain your victims,
cook'em dry.
don't you use their blood and powdered remains as ink?
Short stories or something?"

"Oh, an avid reader?! it's your lucky day:
you get to be part of the collection!"

The lamp nearby tumbles
to the floor as Quill lunges,
ready to ****.

"Wait! Don't you want to know who I am!"

"Not really."

"I'm a ser-"
The sentence is finished by
nothing but the sound of blood
and air
gurgling
into places it was never meant to be
as Quill's blade passes through flesh.

"Pfft, what, you think you're special?"
Quill saunters over to the sink.
"I'd hate to waste ink.
but there'll be more.
there's always more.
isn't that right, Celine."
he says to no one
and stands there with a smirk
as if listening to her.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bM9SHDNAbPw&list=PLbM5LMVZad0aDdDCFZyOel2N12aq62cn7&ab_channel=TuSuShell
on gaining entry to
the Whitehouse's
accommodation
the now president found Obama's
past policy
presentation

he's reprised the Obama
plan in a replica
fashion  
and has even adopted Obama's
acolytes with an abundance of
passion  

there's no doubt about
the emcumbent's
credentials
they sure bear a striking resemblance
to Obama's copycat
stencils
As a copy, I find it difficult
To the chase such expectations
Every action is closely dictated
To mimic the original's intentions

Limiting precision and accuracy
Leaves no freedom of expression
I am only an embodiment
Of some product imitation

Every movement I call my own
Only causes more frustration
Because it strays from what is known
Like a phrase lost in translation

What if I was the original?
No longer seen as a mutation
To be the focus and not forgotten
To be the object of admiration

But I am merely just a shadow
A silhouette born into submission
Lost in darkness, behind the light
Cursed with a muted motivation
Copycat.
For: Alistair Cadger
Find a new wardrobe

Hide my old face

Take time out of my schedule

To find my new place

Maybe I’m still full of life

Full of hope and out of time

I’ll make me,

Take me,

Fake me better

And I’ll do it all for you
For: Huxley Densen, Sigrid Mathisen, Alistair Cadger
Xaela San Feb 2019
In the quitest corner of her bedroom
A woman stares back at the mirror
Wearing the latest dark lipstick on trend
With her near perfection sharp arced eyebrows
And her three inched high heels,

She stood there amazed yet unsatisfied
Not only on her outer being but also for her soul,
Even with all the planned efforts she made;
Regardless the sleepless nights of pure thinking;
Imagining possible outcomes for her definition of beauty

Unsatisfied she started to flip from pages to pages
Of magazines of models and celebrities in their best glamour
She imagined herself in those shoes and glamorous dresses
Gradually she added jewelry unto her bare skin
And painted her pale face with pink blush and mascara

She became a silent imitator, a copycat in other people's dictionary;
An imitation derived from the motivation for beauty
She saw upon the perfect photograph of a photoshopped model on the front page;
She have become so focus to others à la mode fashion
She failed to remember her own creative manners of beauty

This goes on and on and on, it felt like forever;
Then the once creative young lady became just like everyone else
Up to date with the latest beauty trends;
Just like everyone, it inevitably sugar coats her insecurities aside
And progressively concealing her own uniqueness.
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
lucine Dec 2018
you took my words
when you wrote my poetry
but with prettier words
and painted my art
with more vibrant colours.

you took my friends
because they were sick
of the vulnerable me
and they found your fake smile
was much better than truth.

you took my trust
the night i had to cry alone
because although you heard
my voice break when i called
you still chose to yell over me.

just how much more
do you need to steal
from an already broken girl?
are you scared that if i am whole,
my stars will shine brighter than yours?
Next page