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Cassia Jul 2018
It feels as though you drift away
As if you're bored with me
It feels like I should disappear
If we can never be

But even so I'll let you choose
I don't know why, but yes
I'll let you choose because I know
You'll choose what you think's best

Despite the distance there will be
I'll be okay, at least
I'll create a world inside my mind
Where we can be at peace

Inside that world I'll fly away
Leave the chaos far behind
I love the real and adore the false
So I'll blur the lines of time

This is the last time we shall speak
With open hearts in true
So with that knowledge I'll just say
I'm still in love with you
zumee May 12
Last night
I had a dream
that I woke up
from this one
False Poets Jan 2015
like yours
if you'll reciprocate

follow you
if you'll follow me

repost mine
repost yours

pump up those
double discount
quantitative adulations

making everything here,
cheapened and discounted

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave...
when first we practice to deceive.”

standalone
on your merits own
the only way to stand
upright
⭐️
Their eyes were like the stars—
But stars are not blue,
Nor green,
Nor the deepest shade of brown.
**** watch people not read this note section, but this is another parody on those wannabe poets that think by making prose aesthetically arranged and making it look like a stanza is poetry. If you know, you know.
Also, watch this trend because it’s “aesthetic.”

Also, Shakespeare’s sonnet gave me the idea for this ****. Hence the title.
blackbox Mar 2014
I used to wonder each and every time,
Whether all his acts were false pretense or simply divine.
It was hard to believe he could ever lie,
Yet! The toughest thing for me was to bid him goodbye.

What I saw in the start was love and care for me,
Later I realized, it was a camouflage I couldn't foresee.
The moment I was on the verge to open my tight shut eyes,
There he was standing with another disguise.

I tried really hard to unveil his mask,
Thinking it is finally an end to this task.
What I found there was the shock of my life,
There were more masks beneath this mask of guise.

I ran away from him and thought of never seeing his face,
Just a flash of his memories reminded me of all those days.
I stopped myself to take my steps backward,
Not realizing that I was going back to a coward.

I knew I was making a blunder,
'Cause to him I was going to surrender.
I was too weak, that from him I failed to save my enclave,
But couldn't fight back as my greed for his love had made me his slave.

This self-revelation brought a start to another set of pretense,
Surprisingly! It was not him but me following thence.
Ignoring all his faults and lies I had ever known,
I moved forward with him, in selfish motive of my own.

Money or fame was not the reason,
Why then my heart longs for this person?
The question I used to ask myself every now and then,
The only viable answer was maybe I can relate to all his pains.

It was really long I felt for someone so fast,
I knew I was gonna go away and this ‘relationship’ is not going to last.
This realization was enough for me to forgive all his faults,
Call me selfish! But this was the only way to untangle the knots.

Maybe it’s not pretense, something I can’t understand,
Whenever I needed him, he stood by me as a friend.
So, what encouraged him to lie and betray me again and again?
Fear of losing people, makes him think only about his gains.

Digging deeper and deeper into this matter,
I forgot I don't have much time and I can do this later.
Few moments that are left, I wanna live with him
Sooner or later, he'll find his true self within

Lover or caretaker, whichever form he portrays to be in,
I can still find a good person in him,
So, when my love for him is so deeply intense,
Then, why not I live in another false pretense?!
B L Feb 22
I've lived the kind of pain they write about;
In the tales of heroes,
                       who came and went without
Salvation or celebration; and,
      instead, became close friends of doubt.

When luck leaves your side,
And there's no one left watching . . .
               There is no martyrdom.
No heaven to fall from. No damnation.
                Just nothing.
                Nothing and no one
.

But I won't let myself succumb
To the temptation
             of self-righteous certainty,
             false justifications, or
             egotistical self-mutilation -
Just to bleed on those who lay
             Below my lowly elevation.

                     Not like you.
                     I am not made like you.

No longer, will I distort my own view
To lie to the few, who stand with me in the fire.

               It's true.

               I am worthless *******,
               and even I can hardly stand it
               when I speak about myself.
But this time . . .
It's about more than me.
And, for once, I'm going to spend well the wealth,
That I was given and didn't earn,
On those who showed me how to learn
               And to never become like you.

Yes -
I am judgmental and self-loathing.
I am selfish and I am wrong.
I am naive, and strung out and strung along.

                                But I
                                  am not made
                                             like you.

                                             I am strong.
caroline Apr 6
4 plus 3 equals 8
1 times 1 is 2
because if you and me are false
then I don’t know what’s true
False Poets Feb 2015
two little **** creatures
astride me shhhh-oulders
residers and deniers,
opinion~haters,
into each ear, they whisper~creep,
do don't do don't you'll be sorry,
never~good~enough~
and~you~know~it


never in uni~sons,
now look how sorry~sad you are...
dear old dad

when done with the outside torturing,
slip right in and down the ear canal,
up to the brain, thought~mongers,
(what's a monger anyway?)
the voices of my depression,
you can't, you couldn't, you lose,
yo yo you lost you are o v e r,
my body snatched, my past erasing,
turn me into mongrel,
half~man, half~dead
a monger-el,
a contemptible god,
contempted, contemptible
that's the word refrain
of the men in my head
Lyn Senz Nov 2013
Speak loud
then keep quiet
be humbly proud
at the peaceful riot
shoot to live
then sadly play
selfishly give
then haughtingly stay
you're boringly fun
and anxiously still
not ready but done
as you bandage you ****
so strangely normal
and terribly good
just dirt poor formal
on plastic wood

so mic your meal
then call a cab
pop a pill
conceal the scab
your heels are old
your dress is new
your eyes are bold
your friends are few
you've seen it all
but know it's true
you've raised a wall
so they can't see you
for what it's worth
you're not to blame
to death from birth
it's life's false claim


©2012 Lyn
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate
fullness and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is
everything we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
~~~
Sacrelicious Jun 2012
Buried alive, beneath the rhetorical lies.
Of a thousand broken-prayer beads.

Surrounded by all of my....
False hopes.
Fake friends.
&
Some, hornet priests
who are exorcising their own demons.
On a ******* fueled ****** of sadism in it's own right.

On the dark side of the confession booth. This is nothing.

But a divine
waste of my time.
I'll see you all, in Hell.
Skaidrum May 2015
Some days I see the bad reflection
of every
good
      intention.

Father father,
I'm afraid of what I'm becoming.
.
For my Wolf girl,
who bites at ashes
and stains her fangs~
"I'm afraid."

© copywrited.
what is poetry
without a tear
for the dying embers
the distant cheer
for a truth now lost
in chaotic bliss
the magic hidden
within a kiss
the whisper of love
only lovers hear
what is poetry
without a tear
9/15/18
A Slow Heyoka May 11
I am yet to meet a poet
That truly thought themselves a farse
Yet, many a contradictory word they utter
Behind a blanket of clouds beneath their brightest stars

If like me
They may pluck from the sky
The paint spatters swirls in the night
Grasping for the absence of doubt in an attempt to ramify
To purify, quantify, reclassify and personify
To reunite those childhood dreams of becoming Samurai

Then many a fog and dew slicken breaths
Make tails of torture and woe
Creating enemies in a fantasy
A vertigo
A muddy puddle raindrop staccato

If the stars in my sky could fit in my hand
My quill would never run dry
Coupled with the raging of the storm I was born in
To the smog, A maelstrom, thunderbolts will statify

If a false poet is illiterate, not versed in grammar
the bottom of the bourgeoisie
If their unthoughtful words stultify
I'm afraid this poet is me

The truth is

I wouldn't know what a true poet was
If they were staring me right in the face

I can't imagine what a false one would be like
Perhaps they may just need a star

To hang in their empty space
I made up a word today: Statify - To Statically charge an object. My English and Physics teachers would hate me right now HAHA. :)
Sara Kellie Dec 2017
My name is Sara, a transgender chick
Wanted a *****, was given a ****
I hide it in knickers of satin and lace
before sitting down to make-up my face,
Next the prosthetics, I'm using two bits.
Stuck to my chest, they'll do as my ****
Now for my legs I'll put on false tan,
I wouldn't do this if I were a man
Alternative nights, a t-girl delights
to sit on her bed and pull on new tights.
I'll put on a dress, a cute one no less.
Then for my shoes, high heels I choose
A sandal style shoe as every girl knows
not only looks cute, they'll show painted toes
A bit of eyeliner, eyebrow definer,
lipstick and blush, I'm now looking lush.
I stand in the mirror all ready to go,
there's only one question I just have to know.
"Does my *** look big in this?"

Poetry by Kaydee.
I wrote this poem in 2010 shortly after introducing myself as Sara to the world.
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