Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Man Jan 2021
you're unaware of your plasticity
but it's plain to see to me
you're an artificial fabrication
of what you think you should be
but the rescue boats are coming
if you'll throw your hand out for an oar
help you'll find
from people like life rafts
who'll drag you to shore
yet you stab at the boat
puncturing it's tender flesh
the water's rising
it's hard denying
you did this yourself
Gabs Aug 2020
I love you.

No. Shut up.
You don’t get to love me.
You don’t get to drown me in the sea of your fabricated passion,
Nor do you get to drag me through the gravel of your emotional inventions.
I see through your facade;
Your desperation to keep me close,
The fear of losing me rendering you incapable of rationality.
You convince yourself of these feelings
Yet in the process of fooling me,
You deceive yourself.
You ensnare me in the waves of your fiction,
But clasp your soul onto the crown of an anchor.

Keep lying to yourself.
Soon enough you’ll find yourself at the bottom of the ocean.
False Poets Jul 2020
Mirrorball - “the fabrication of our performance”

a life long struggle to accept who I am,
of course, lose, and lose again, and
the fabrication of our performance now
inherent in every excuse and mirrorball
revolving asking, no, laughing, at our
vanity, as we endeavor, enabled by the
paucity of ego, the neediness of weakness’s
to catch, keep, hold each single flickering
light spot in our open, slick palms forever

we fabricate our performance of daily living,
modifying our measurements to match output,
only a human cannot wake only to fall within
each daily tabulation without thinking, once:

I am a hero, worthy of acknowledgement, just
look at my hands! see how many spots of
light I can claim as mine! the mirrorball turns
and turns paying no mind to the worshipers
below, until some sorrowful fool confesses,
fools fail, fools fail, turning the dervish off,
the white flag of ego darkened, once more...

we are all false poets, false prophets, occasionally confessing

7:34 AM
Sat Jul 18
The Year of the Virus, Corona
thank you MG for the commission
Creator Sun Sep 2019
I don't believe that someone can be 100% honest.
Because everything you know, do, believe in, understand...
Are all lies.

All of them are lies.
Yet we live in a world, content with these
beautiful yet misleading lies.

Why are our smiles so fake?
Why are our hearts so empty?
Why are our laughs so forced?
I'll tell you why; we're just pretending to be happy.

Everything is just a fabrication of your mind.
They are as endless as time.
But why? WHY?
Why do we still believe them?

Because there is nothing such as the truth.
There are only lies, white lies, more lies.
Everything you know and believe ARE LIES!

Religion? It's a LIE!
Atheism? Such a big lie!
Humanity is BUILT to be lied to,
to have something to believe in.

But still, everything you know is wrong.
Everything you do is wrong
Everything is faked, staged, fabricated, wrong!
Everything is a LIE!

So why do we delude ourselves?
Why do we exaggerate every little tiny thing?

It is because that is what we are genetically programmed to DO.
It is our sense of REALITY.
We have no other CHOICE.
Or do we?

Airplanes used to be a lie.
Racial harmony used to be a fleeting dream.
Woman rights used to be unheard of.
So are all lies hurtful?

Not all of them.
We barely have a future worth believing in.
That's why lies are so important to our society.

We LIVE by them.
We need them to SURVIVE.
It is in our code.

But yet we lie for every single little thing.
Do we need it?

YES. Absolutely.
It is in our programing.

Lies progress humanity.
It is our judicial system.
I'm high on classic coke, don't mind me giving my literature teacher an existential crisis of a poem. Yeah, it depends if she decides to check this out with the handwritten link on a card. If so, Happy Teacher's Day Ms Choo, I hope that you enjoy some other poems of mine. In this poem, I went with an experimental style of regular stanzas but irregular rhythm and repetition. This sounded better in my mind, but I guess it took too long for me to get back home and to type this out on my laptop, so here is a humble approximation of a psychological study. Also, this poem might cause some people to be offended, so please approach with caution.
amaya b Mar 2019
it's the only way to make myself believe,
the only way i can make this feel real
pleasure over matter.
the only aspect of romantic love that i can fabricate on my own.
last one for tonight, one of my favorites... :) <3
Inday Sep 2018
Fur coats, Malboro smokes and fancy labels,
Fabricated faces closed off, segregated, false.
Pretending to be these people, these cloned plastic dolls.

Dark lips, skeletal figures and decadent glances,
Small waists, tall bodies and negative spaces
With hearts going nowhere, only lipstick traces.

You like to talk about people, about insignificant things
Not birds, or mountains or the potential life brings.
But just remember this: you will never tower over a mountain or grow any wings
Kim Essary May 2018
DREAMS are illusions made up in our mind.
We usually spend a lifetime chasing but rarely ever find.
Fabrications of the way we want to be.
Just to wake to a harsh reality.
We Invision all these things we long to find.
Dreaming of this fantasy we make with our mind.
Why must we dream all this false illusion in our brain ?.
We wake again to reality just to realize we only self inflicted our heart more pain.
Dreams are merely a fabrication of an illusion of things that we will never do.
The make believe of a Happily Ever After, that never comes true.!
Dreams will pick you up and watch you fall back down.
Hailey G Jun 2017
Dust mites and terabytes.
A simple recipe for humanities blights.
Thoughts form not into structures,
but paper you keep forgetting to take out of your pocket
when you throw your jeans into the dryer.
Flyers online consume our nation
as society mimics intimacy
through the twist and turns of an online server.
Just out of touch enough
to create the illusion of choice.
A high IQ regains the reality of vision
further blocked by the rose tinted glasses
hanging on the wall of every store.
What use is hiding behind a screen
when the only enamored party you have
is the one you've fabricated in your head.
Next page