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Carlo C Gomez Jul 18
You're only pretty
If you wear this
            have this
            are this

You're only cool
If you smoke this
            drink this
            own this

You need it NOW
            Before it's gone!

A new and improved you

                  (Until we tell you otherwise)
At this point in my life
I’m fairly certain
I’ve told more falsehoods than truths
And most of them to my gullible self

I’m trying to remedy that
In the hope of hating myself just a little bit less
(Wait that’s not true)
In the hope of being forgiven if I’m found out
Which, I guess
Is why I’m writing this dumb poem
(Wait that’s not quite true;
I think this poem — and I
Are rather clever)
You don't get it, do you? You still think your money
is your merit, your mansion is high fashion, your limousine
the only car you'll never have to drive , your wife only a
trophy. These falsehoods are like thick pieces of prime rib;  
you suffer from emotional and physical gout. I shout, but
you don't hear me. You are spiritually deaf. Your worth is
deep within you, but buried by layers and layers of fat
and fatuous values. At the Country Club, you are not
bothered by blacks and latinos and Jews. Your only tenet
is to keep your left arm straight. You consecrate Red Label
instead of red wine. You cheat when playing poker, but it's
OK because no one notices. You take a shower, but use
no soap. What the ****! Who cares? I am above all
others! I'll take a Mulligan on that last shot. Boy, get
me another ball!

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and human-rights advocate his entire life. He recently finished his novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH.
Carlo C Gomez Dec 2019
We need to measure the diametrics
Of your ****** and body structure
The radius of your smile
The appearance of your eyes
The height of your forehead
The size of your nose
The straightness of your shoulders
The firmness of each breast
The contours of your stomach
The circumference of your waist
The curvature of your ****
Your thigh gap
Hip width
Knee symmetry
Leg taper
Hair growth
Navel shape
****** color
***** length
So we can
Make you
No thank you!
"Images of what the media believes are “ideal” women are everywhere—on TV, in movies, online, in magazines, in ads, and in video games. You may begin to believe that these images show what is normal. But the weights and body types of women you see in the media are not normal. Only about 5% of American women have the genetics to make it possible to look like these images. For most people, trying to look like these images can be unhealthy. It can cause depression, eating disorders, and low self-esteem." -- American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists
jake aller Oct 2019
The Deep fake era is upon us

Every thing is fake these days

Everything is a fraud 
Prepare for the deep fake world
Fakery, fraud, and falsehoods abound
All artfully done
Killing the last shred of human decency left
Everything is a deep fake
these days
from my fake things poems see my web page for more fake poems
Druga is illusion
A symbol or a membrane
A discus to be thrown
To observe the arc in sunshine.

She is not the ball
To be shotput through
She is not the goal
But a passage by the soul.

Sit, spread
Your arms wide as rainbow.
Wife, you have forgotten
The son is not your daughter.
What do thou focus on?

See also
s Willow Feb 2019
Deep in the woods
there is a land of falsehoods.
The weight of regret vacillate.
A land to create.

I feel odium in this land.
Lost souls that planed,
planed to cross over.
Wanting to takeover.
A Simillacrum Oct 2018
Spin it one more time,
your story is so involving,
have heard

Repeat it for me,

That's what I thought.

Any other day,
I'd not
say anything,
pretend I
buy your *******.
Today, I can't let it go.

I never ask.
You volunteer.
the lying

Bother someone else,
you ******* *****.
xmelancholix May 2017
the universe shakes me awake with an ache in my chest
and for a moment i think it's just my ribs getting stuck again except
I'm not having trouble breathing
like i sometimes wish

i look in the mirror and know I'm not alone
it's four AM
and not a soul stirs
not even my own
i think that's why my chest hurts

mine's dead
i think
and now the spirit it leaves paints itself gold
stroke by stroke
"FALSEHOODS" i scream in the mirror
"falsehoods" the reflection whispers

and i weep
a broken fragment trying to make itself new and worthy
but what a lie
the lies we tell ourselves
and the lies they tell themselves.
nothing is worthy
but hush, just paint them gold
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