"counterfeits" poems
You are my beginning and end,
the very breath I breathe.
My heart, my life, my soul,
my all.
You've made this life worth living.
The way that you love me,
with your kindness, understanding and joy,
I am moved.
Your heart, so sincere and trusting,
draws me in, making me whole.
All others, that came before,
are but faint counterfeits.
So wonderful are you that I melt in your arms,
not needing more, nor wanting for more.
One half of a whole was I...
You have come to complete me.
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
1131
The Merchant of the Picturesque
A Counter has and sales
But is within or negative
Precisely as the calls—
To Children he is small in price
And large in courtesy—
It suits him better than a check
Their artless currency—
Of Counterfeits he is so shy
Do one advance so near
As to behold his ample flight—
2k
I am madness,
and sunshine while it rains
but I am no rainbow
there's no light at the end of this tunnel
only darkness
lit by florescent counterfeits.
I am a wind storm
messy, never dangerous
but always unpredictable.
I have spent my days
worried with things I cannot control
and I so badly want
something I can hold close to.
But I am solid as a rock
and when I approach you
it will cause some damage.
I have known for a long time
that loving me is hard
because I've tried
and even I get tired.
I am clay,
easily molded
but when left dry and untouched
I turn to stone.
It may take some time,
but even a diamond
needs pressure
to be beautiful.
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
How strange
That this inedible feast
Should be arranged with such care:
Place one greenandorange gourd here,
No here! And –- oh!
But there are so many
miniature vegetables to be sorted.
**** The pumpkin could not hold its position.
Well, we’ll have to see to that, presently.
This ceremony lingers for hours
Beneath the well-placed coffee poster instructing
“Éviter les Contrefaçons”
Avoid the Counterfeits.
And all the while Mother arranges a
cornucopia of assorted indigestables.
Aug 10, 2010
Aug 10, 2010 at 1:11 PM UTC
Maybe, we’re all wayward souls looking for a
way out.
Spent so long squeezing into factory shoes,
small enough to contain us
that we’ve become numb to these
hand-me-downs.
This society that holds our hands down.
Only raising them when it’s time to change shoes.
Feet out.
Toe’s pointed.
Watch your heels.
Years of this and we’re still wearing what they want us to.
Walking around like counterfeits,
reproductions, imitations, replicas,
when we’re only us.
Only ever been us no matter what they say.
It might be cliche, but it’s an obvious truth.
Feet out.
Toe’s pointed.
Watch your heels.
Us has never left us.
Pressing against the soles of our factory shoes as each toe
bends, folds, distorts, depreciates with every step.
But it’s finding appreciation in every step that,
loosens the laces.
It’s discovering no step is the same step that,
lifts the tightened lip a bit.
It’s learning how to walk while others run,
running while others walk,
that leaves you bare foot in a world of broken glass.
Feet out.
Toe’s pointed.
Watch your heels.
It’s taking leaps while others surrender
their ability to negotiate with
themselves.
It’s conquering the ability to dress yourself that wears out
the factory shoes on your feet.
Feet out.
Toe’s pointed.
Watch your step.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
Light fingers
brush across a shoulder,
standing hairs on end.
A gentle caress
sends shivers
skittering down the spine.
A cool touch
sets the mind
racing.
But this touch,
so hollow,
so empty,
a vacant echo
of affection,
untrue, deceptive.
Counterfeits of love,
icy fingers trace
veins of sorrow.
An insincere embrace
stirs the mind,
inspiring false hope.
My own hand,
my own arm,
curled around me.
A vain attempt
to bring your love
to where I lie.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 10:06 AM UTC
It is ironically funny,
that in the land of milk and honey I pray for two shots of whiskey.
Tell the devil come and get me,
but, I'm not going gently.
I never met a single sorrow that I was able to drown,
yet, never had a wrong up that I couldn’t write down.
So even though my demons keep following me around,
they don’t talk to me now, they don’t even make sound.
They just lick their lips and then they look at me and grin
while I'm gripping this pen like, I'm never getting it again.
It is almost as if they think I'm writing it for them.
But why would I want to play a game that no one gets to win?
I would like to welcome you to my mind; but I'm out of it.
How is it I'm proud of it and still not powerless?
It's simple, my prowess is not made of counterfeits.
And now it gets people to keep openly noticing the potency of the flow in me is known to be overly, thought provokingly, and notably infectious.
My poetry is restless, so, just knowing me is reckless.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 2:33 AM UTC
there's this boy in my class who can move through water like a raindrop through summer air, though his eyes are brown like the ground on which he walks.
he is an ocean with currents and waves and groundswells, all waiting to drag me up and send me crashing into him.
i've always been a good swimmer, was even on a team once, but his water is pushing and pulling and putting its hands on my waist and neck, tangling in my hair, telling me to trust him.
but how do i trust if i've never been in love before?
how do i give myself to someone and expect to get every penny back?
do i have the time (is he worth the time) to count every coin and weigh for counterfeits?
is part of falling in love taking the risk of not getting everything returned?
can i come out of love unchanged?
or is change a part of love?
i know that you took mythology as an elective last trimester because i saw you in the library and was trying not to stare so let me tell you the story of icarus.
he fell.
hard.
he had wings fashioned from wax and feather and did not heed his father's warnings, flying too close to the sun, touching salvation with his fingertips, only to fall into the unforgiving sea.
if i am icarus and you are the sea then who is the sun?
is love personified within the sun in our myth, something that you must fall away from in order to fall into?
is love the enemy or the goal, something to obtain?
is there a reward for the fall?
is the reward love?
do i need to love (or even merely like) in order to meet you face to face somewhere out of school, coffee maybe?
or a movie?
i hear there's a new one out about a girl afraid of love.
to be loved.
to give love.
to accept love.
does seven work for you?
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 11:17 PM UTC
I wonder where true love went
before the world plunged into chaos
selling itself to counterfeits
giving away pieces of its soul
for temporal, physical pleasure.
Life is more than just "fun and games"
often times, it is sacred.
Love is deemed to be
"just a game"
and who can be the best at it.
We search for the best players,
worthy playmates for a good time
or ******** opponents.
The only value you have
is your "gear"
and how you make the most of it.
After that,
it's a job well done.
A "game over" after
"good luck; have fun"
After that,
you're sick and done.
These players don't play fair,
and in games like these,
there is no honour.
Where has true love gone to?
No, not your kind of "love"
I'm talking about the one that
cares
respects
honours
trusts
is honest, and truthful.
The love that grows when in hurt
the authentic affection that stays
even when it's harder to stay
the one that
is the most patient
What happened to
REAL love?
Where has it gone?
Why have we traded it with some
fantasy
and instead of loving with our souls
we lust after
bodies
like
dead
corpses?
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 7:31 AM UTC
Chattering boxes are but the brain at work, with dreary thoughts doing the consistent work.
Laughable laughs come out as bold lies, as the true core we barely adore slowly dies.
With true words never being spoken, will the dark spell of the fraudulent counterfeits ever be broken?
The world is now digital and synthetic, and the almighty aesthetic is now genetic.
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 9:10 PM UTC
The Wings of a black bird curves,
As he’s deterred by the winds resistance
Contemplating its exist, but his will to go on is persistent
You see, he doesn't know what’s to gain
Or if he’ll find truth in those old sayings
Disputing myths and pointing out counterfeits
Depicting things in the distance, like he has a sixth sense
Reading the fine print on prescriptions,
Vulture’s find their addictions from the God’s
Because they have plenty of victims.
More than ****** or ******* Crack is wack, Mary Jane causes no pain
Medicines that aren't natural **** humans like its casual
Causalities building faster than the words of Socrates
The FAD of the F.D.A. approving poison as food like aspartame.
Preachers teaching blasphemy, Reading scriptures inaccurately,
Tickling the ears of those that pay a dollar to hear
That Jesus is coming there’s nothing to fear
So they believe they’ll be long gone before destruction is near
Death is at the door, but evolution is around the corner
The revolution will have to hold them
No true solution to control them
You see we are the caged beings
They lock our brains in
Books of lies, and entertaining T.V.
Mar 4, 2014
Mar 4, 2014 at 8:09 PM UTC
I have no vices,
no advice for anyone who doesn't either.
I don't smoke cigarettes or even drink coffee.
I'm not much of a drinker anymore
and marijuana gives me anxiety.
So on days when the world is crushing me
one foot into my throat at a time
I wonder what my vice could be.
Pills have found themselves into the throats of many,
and when they found the empathy in my esophagus
They won.
And then the blade found it's way to my wrist
and I wondered how I got like this.
So ever since then, no vices for me.
No way out, no mask or hiding behind lies
or behind the counter counterfeits
Just my own demons staring right back at me
like gazing at my reflection in broken mirrors.
I have understood the beauty of a sunset
and known what it's like to cling to the darkness shortly after.
I have felt the sinister euphoria behind broken drywall
and broken noses.
But all of it led me to the same place I was before.
Clinging onto drunken nights and drunken lips,
with every cigarette lit I reminded myself-
this wasn't who I am and I liked it that way.
Now those drunken nights turn to dark ones
and those drunken lips have turned to friendships
so ever since then I remind myself that nothing is permanent
and as I realize the only thing that could save me in the end,
was knowing that I've done ****** things and
the world that surrounds me has been ****** since I entered it
but I am no cowered.
I will love more than I have been loved
which isn't a hard thing to do
because people, printers and partying came first-
I have always been a secretary to secondary.
But I will fear no man, or take no one's ****
I will live this life how I envisioned it,
and love more than I have witnessed.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC
My world is a stage where its inhabitants dance to different kind of music .My world is a beautiful place flooded with an infinite spectrum of possibilities .We transition a series of rhythmical steps towards its epilogue in each passing minute .The biblical plagues preach the fulfillment of the prophetic unto the hour glass .My world has evolved into the devils pawn shop where he smuggles souls into his kingdom .
It's where the devil ministers the gospel of Christ in sheep's clothing .
It's where men are married to money and fame such that they would **** to preserve the marriage .
It's where true love has been exiled into obscurity .
It's where a desperate lot have put prize tags on their bodies for survival .
It's where Adam and Steven can get married and parent a child .
It's where terrorism and coups have become the most efficient way to either stay or get in power .
It's where moral decay has become fashionable .
It's where men and women are enslaved to religious ,traditional and cultural believes such that they would sacrifice anything to abide by them .
It's where wheels of justice have been shredded into worthless pile of scraps
Corrupt corporal perverts rob the people leaving them with cotton candy promises .Churches and temples have been initiated into the industrial sector .Poverty and suffering have become spikes in the flesh of the oppressed .The ignorant majority has bleached into an artificial grey race .Most of our trusted comrades have mutated into fake plastic counterfeits infected by the Judas Iscariot virus .The moral compass has been broken into pieces and tossed away .My world is at its boiling point full of uncertainties .
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
In the midst of all this
there lies a cloud, peeking above from the river tops
unwilling to be smothered with the flocks of crows
and it shows just what it desires –
Rays that almost seem blinding;
Only kind that boosts energy
Hinder the loss that was once expected
Unhidden silence lingers through day and night,
Triggering what was forgotten
Had it not been for the laughter
She would have become more senile
But could it be that she knew all along?
That there is a certain order to the
Counterfeits and deficit mischief?
Once a tot,
then a youngster
who was reassured thoughtlessly
Transcending into
the woman
who she wanted to be
Starting the day off with caffeine;
ending the day with caffeine
it is now a routine that is hard to break
but it is the only medium that she can dive into --
an exquisite ensemble.
Earthy fixtures of land oozes pungent smoke from railroads,
paving the doubt that squanders unknowingly.
Or at least it would be the last on her mind
Before it crawls back up, swallowing the good first and then the bad:
filling up the lungs,
the heart,
and eventually
the innermost.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 7:40 AM UTC
When searching for your heart of gold
Be warned that many counterfeits are sold
The gilded one may brightly shine
But flakes and fades given time
The one you're really looking for
Is made of carat 24
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 5:07 AM UTC
Feast Of Summer Moons
A Poem by Eve aka Corset
Tonight and all over the earth,
there is merriment.
Cocky birds will dance
at maske and vest.,
and many times at best
I have dreamt of this
in sadness
still to awake with laughter
within my breast.
and yet
beyond these lids
and lashes,
the world is
still our oyster,
whether it be hailed
by sighing violins
or paired by
charmed footsteps.
Madame Butterfly;
my cupid kills in arrows
and so grieves her;
her Puccini,
should love speak
beyond a reasonable
torment of expectation.
Let her feast then
beneath the moons
soft with light and
with souls as bright
as sunlight, brilliant
upon the water
bound not
by counterfeits of passion,
having railed
so long at love,
that it does seem to
have become a habit.
Whisper again
to a ****** night,
that dreams with
eyes wide open,
sailing to a song within.
Love is ancient and ageless and
hearts will remain young
forever,
for which men and women
will hunger,
because,
amour sweet amour
is a feast
and fit
for summer moons.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 12:04 AM UTC
It's a clockwork — like the dances of phantoms in the hallways, in the glow of lights through the window at night. I stared like a burglar from afar, It's the fear and anger, that's keeping me restless — a reminder that I should sleep with one eye open, _meager, furiously shame_.
I understand how stubborn they are rewriting the history, as I try to recollect, catching trails like they were footsteps. Love is all they worship from the beginning of time, thus it crumbles them to dust.
Are they second - hand embarrassed? If I couldn't see the ghosts and shadows lingering everywhere, yet here I am nestled to all that fairy tale, for a momentary, and still plotting the sweetest lullaby. Did they haunt you too? as if it were a chunk to the armour or it counterfeits them?
Jun 1, 2025
Jun 1, 2025 at 9:40 AM UTC
April 15, 2015
Everything looks better from a distance.
From far away we’re fearless
and free from resistance.
Sweaty browed exhaustion,
Looks cool in the breeze.
Palm trees planted in my heart.
A paradisiacal coconut guillotine.
Wistful eyes turning counterfeits into truth,
Colorblind, grey water becomes blue.
Soul screams mirage,
But the animal’s craving magic.
Postcards painted, stamped and sealed
The mind reflects ideals.
Everything shines with excitement,
when you're drunk on possibility.
Mar 16, 2018
Mar 16, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
In a room full of men
with their flashy clothes
and exotic cars
I only see you
Your soul shines brighter than the bling
your laughter penetrates me
it makes me feel free
in a room full of counterfeits
you are the real thing
May 31, 2022
May 31, 2022 at 9:54 PM UTC
Seeking and always having sought
For a community
A collective whom who call themselves my home
“That’s one of ours!” They may shout,
Or at least which I’d hope for
But keep your eyes clean
for some of these are counterfeits
The mirage of “mine” are they
But mirages are a mistake of the eye so
Maybe the misunderstanding is mine also?
But undoubtedly I still want an undoubtedly
An “of course! Don’t be silly!”
Not only welcome to belong if I so wish
But to belong is a given
An assumption and simple fact
Yes, that would be nice wouldn’t it.
Oct 16, 2022
Oct 16, 2022 at 8:17 PM UTC
If she’s a good girl
Do you wonder about her cheating
Other ppl eating what you had for dinner
Only more pleasing
Keep what you had for sure on a plate
Only they skipped work and kept eating
I’m not worried for myself, I just hate the misleading
The cause of distrust to all human kind
We find kind looks like diamonds on my wine
Or necklace shaped eyes
Only wishing for a ring with truer size
Who can compromise my lust for this
Only the one that bleeds bliss from her lips
Treasured filled demons that my shelf counterfeits
Only to treat my feelings of this drug and it fits
Coping with the person that walks next to me and convinces that I shouldnt be commuting adultery even tho I am convinced
My iPhone won’t even sync to what I actually want skipped
**** this is passion on my grips
The store my life and my wife
I wish I had
The singer that left my heart in a prison for growth once I was ready for the kids
I want to show what to hate and what to love
How to hate hate
More then a drug
How to dismember the fake
And trigger the *****
The **** this **** I’m outta here for lunch
I got my own paper to rip apart and spread for love
Feb 3, 2018
Feb 3, 2018 at 12:05 AM UTC
/*shovels' worth of sparrow songs, hid before me, the praise of morn, I took to ***** and to cushion, that I might sneeze back, with a cajun sentiment of a, "misjudged" joke... mind you... who might care what you don't mind what others feel, when... no one, really cares, what you think? am I wrong to suggest that feeling and thinking are synonymous? both happen almost instantaneously, given a stimulant... is this some sort of pathogen of "wrong-think" sifting process? feelings are delayed patterns of the expression of intellect... thoughts are shallow counterfeits of emotions.... I too wished I was the blabber-mouth of highschool... when thinking cannot become rhetorical, it incubates itself in emotions... but when thinking incubates rhetoric... the emotions attempting to be staged, become, equivalent to, passing a stranger on a street, never giving a two second's worth of mind, worth of notice.*
the pulverising presence
of the elemental man,
lodged within,
the seemingly, unmoveable
tiers of "object";
foolish, seeking fame,
as to quench a familiarity,
in:
overcoming the torrent,
of man "evaluating" water...
riddling his equal...
perpetually undermining
metaphysical novels,
with metaphors-,
and never...
the unsatiable thirst...
*** post annus.
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 9:33 PM UTC
Times are cold but I'm sick of old waves saying there new people with known names tell me there truth and selling my stuff for there clues just to find out they died to soon and the only thing that stands is a mic and a song 45 years go by if your not Elvis or Micheal we don't know you..
What to soon? Is 50 years old good for you ? Looking at and looking up to a Idol is two different mindsets luckily I got them both raging like sea on sand counterfeits people push people to the limits just to say "I got more power then you!" Then Die like the great beast in forest ....get ready folks I bet they have another show there bout perform in it..
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC