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Emily Joyce Aug 2020
If you must tell a lie, do so well -
Lies likely fall apart
Often crumbling due to bumbling
A speakers deadly demise
My passion is the lonely lie
Lone creates shine
A lie must deliver cleverly
Or all would align -
A poetic imitation of Emily Dickinson's "Tell all the truth but tell it slant" I did for my poetry class.
ari Mar 2020
i’d like to feel alive
     when was the last time
you really felt alive?
     the last time i felt pain was
this morning when i
    brushed my teeth until
my gums bled
   maybe i’ll stick needles in my skin
to feel something
to imitate the addictingly horrible pain
             of a lover’s touch
I am from a hungry sun unsated
from sewer smoke and old trees
I am an eviction notice swept
into yesterday’s trash.
(but it’s okay,
      nothing lasts forever:
everything is changing
         and the sidewalk tastes
                   of past lives.)
I am from burnt coral pine needles -
dug into the soil
clawing, rooting into
ageless thighs
forever in a dream
an old static VCR loop
where we stayed
forever by
the lake.

I am from old
new farms,
(quiet ghosts
     weeping in the
   family  photos)
never coming

peeling paint
trembling apartments
creaking floors
dirt driveways
sparkling water
couch made of wine stains
home made of humans
forest of suns -
   (there are faces
    blurred photographs
    and burning meteors
    in a shoebox
    made of steel.
    I keep it this way,
    so we’re always
I fantasyse a fodder/
who myght feeed mye goost/
amende it atnyght/
when thee darke nd dreade onlee drenche/
nd drowne my hart in sorowe/
I am lost/
softlye now tale me/
all thee preteee thyngs I wont to heere/
tale me/
you love me/
that I am evrythynge u’ve wonted neer/
that mye prestencts dose not
alarm you/
that thes sun is bryght/ yellow/
fool of energee nd lyfe/
that you are proud/
of me/ not ashamed/
of my bryght colers/
tell me you love me
after feeld by Jos Charles
she spoke to me without parting lips
these words are cheap imitation
TD Apr 2019
Poets pen
mere glances of
a passing smile.
Kayla Hardy Jan 2019
(imitated from Patricia Lockwood’s **** Joke)

The woman joke isn’t something you choose.

The woman joke is something you get used to.

The woman joke it almost becomes your livelihood.

Remember when you were little, boys had cooties, but so did girls. Imagine what would happen today if you said boys had cooties-


You’ll hear the woman joke when you’re way too young. The ones telling the joke probably won’t realize that the joke they’re telling isn’t a joke at all. But girls have cooties and they always will.

You’ll grow up, but nothing will change.

The woman joke is now commonplace. The norm! How can a joke be so common normal? The only people who think the joke isn’t normal are women.

The woman joke is when even the President can make the joke without consequence.

But you can’t.

The woman joke is that if you make one, it suddenly isn’t funny anymore, men will look away in disgust, and other women will say you’re degrading them and yourself.

It’s just a joke, you’d say. Even though you knew it wasn’t.

The woman joke is an expected icebreaker at a party that you learn to laugh at. When you go home at night, you shake with rage but know there’s nothing you can do about it.

How can such a joke exist? Because you do.
Jack L Martin Sep 2018
Imitation is NOT
the best form of flattery
when the imitator
gets credit for the idea.
someone out in cyber-land
might just be
copying a poem which they'll
attribute to their own tee

unscrupulous replicators
have no qualms
on flagrantly stealing the lines
from genuine arms

when they take a fancy
to your brilliance of verse
they'll naff off with all or part of it
and stow it within their purse

piracy is rife around
online writing dales and dells
it's the pilfering of an authentic
author's heart and soul bells

they say that imitation
is the sincerest form of flattery
but an alternate opinion
would say plagiarists are bereft
of an original wordage battery
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