"impersonating" poems
i don't think about you anymore.
except when i become
my own lowest point.
you cross my mind then.
briefly,
grazing the edges
of my reality,
impersonating a friend.
but i don't need you anymore.
so, every time you knock,
trying to sell,
wearing your shiny labels
like a badge,
i'll shut the door in your face
and let the night take you back
to the abyss you crawled out from,
veiled in shame.
Sep 28, 2025
Sep 28, 2025 at 11:15 AM UTC
Finding something on the road
And serving it for dinner
Buying dresses far too small
And thinking you look thinner
Solar powered submarines
Broken ribs or ruptured spleens
Driving cars and drinking beers
Lightbulb licking, bad ideas
Knowing where you shouldn't be
And being there despite
Going out in thunderstorms
To fly your iron kite
Sharing needles with a shark
Going to Mansfield after dark
Setting fire to someone's ears
Telemarketing, bad ideas
Not deploying gaffer-tape
When doing D.I.Y.
Believing the implausible
While branding truth a lie
Replying to Nigerian Princes
**** bleach and ******* rinses
Tabloid papers touting fears
Voting UKIP, bad ideas
Impersonating ******
Before nineteen forty-five
Catching a train on Sunday
And assuming you'll arrive
Turning lights on with your nose
Eating food that moves or glows
Listening to Britney Spears
Marmite Pringles, bad ideas
**
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
The hospital took his smell away
***** him of his humanity
Stripped him of his identity
White sheets, too clean
If he could he'd take paint &
Splash it on the walls, on the
perfect cracks on the ceiling
he'd run down the silent hallways
impersonating a banshee
reveling in each breath that he took
but the plague came & took his breath away
his face blends in with his starchy pillow
the hospital vines are curling up
his legs now & his face is
weathering like his Ophelietic bed
wherein he drowns, never dreaming
They roll him away now
Down the hall
Towards the elevator light;
He has lost this fight.
Dec 16, 2015
Dec 16, 2015 at 1:03 PM UTC
Next time you tell me to go away
I'll show you just how good I am at disappearing
You just haven't stuck around long enough for the
vanishing act
You have the audacity to
say my name tastes like filth
But have you ever thought
that the source of your uncleanliness
was born somewhere in your lung's
and made its way up your throat
I can taste that
when I kiss you
No wonder everything turn's to grit
in your mouth
You have the stones
to say
you're an insomniac
But there's a difference between
not wanting to sleep
and not being able to
And your hands wouldn't shake so much
if you didn't drink so much coffee
and you wouldn't look so tired
If you smiled once in a while
and your breath wouldn't taste
or smell
or look
like ****
if you didn't smoke
100 packets a day.
So you have the audacity to tell me
"Well, baby the truth hurts."
In that southern drawl
With eyes so animated
I wonder which movie star you're impersonating now
After four months of Kurt Cobain
I've had enough of your angst and love letters
And I'd love to lay
my hands against your throat
and let you feel the threat
of life
draining away
But I know you would just smile
and rack your brain
for a quote from a movie you have stored somewhere
away
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 9:55 PM UTC
Other worlds have hopes,
for plants, for trees and
dogs walking by, panting
soaking in humidity like carp
above water.
Not ours.
Dead ends, parked cars supplanting
serenity with passion, desire
crammed into
row upon row of heartless
dwellings expunging sunglass-wearing
**** suckers
blocking their emptiness from the world
with reverse blindfolds.
I know their eyes still glare at me, scoffing at
them. Walking, I
walk past
their barricaded kennels, under-
construction housing
impersonating natural climes
with sushi and slushy shops.
People like them have admiss-
able drives, hankering after
freedom; they're indoctrinated
to believe admission is
monthly cable bills
wired in beneath concrete slabs
maintained compliance
through lines painted on grass
where overlords can tell livestock
what to do.
Bus chutes form
hillsides, beside lines of
trees which perfume these
feedlots
we call
cities.
**** oozes below streets
walked on, they stared at me
like cows, watching a ranch-hand
suspicion toward anything
beyond bistro fences.
"What the **** are you looking at,
you filthy animal?
Have you no idea which species your greed
feeds?
Do you know where this ends
for you?
Who's tazing your ***
who's making you sit there?"
Moo, mooo.
Mooooooooooooooooooo.
Receipts, a cudgel on each table,
more cudgels ring
from pockets
telling them what time it is,
where they're to be.
Sunday's almost over,
back to blocks of houses!
Graze on painted grass,
then die,
but not before you stare at me
with empty eyes,
you pathetic, miserable
creatures.
Jun 3, 2012
Jun 3, 2012 at 10:11 PM UTC
Burnt out lanterns
swaying in the wind.
Harsh Winter bares his glistening teeth
biting at my exposed flesh
tearing at my tattered layers.
He whispers in my ear
threatens my life with
hunger
thirst
promising death
in the end.
Harsh Winter wears a mask
of white, glittery fabric.
He walks around impersonating
instilling images of
family
friends
love.
Harsh Winter tempts you
only to take your heart
freeze it
shatter it.
Harsh Winter is not your friend.
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 8:17 AM UTC
the vastness of an empty soul
demystifies the Grand Canyon
and shrinks the universe
to microscopic molecules
barely able to manipulate energy
matter that doesn’t matter
madder than a hare in March
balance skewed
undue pressure
seasonal disfunction disorder
ordering medication
naturalization
seeking citizenship
in an isolation township
serving only self-pity
to the self-destructive –
squatting, gargoyle
surveyor on the job
soaking in the loathing
basking in the glow
caused by the discontent of others
opioid android locked in the void
unemployed
laughing at misery
in mercy centers
meticulously mimicking the miscreants
impersonating pain
seeking to blend –
ostracized miser in designer jeans
obscene in drag queen regalia
“whiskers from under his pancake make-up”
wake-up Godiva, locate the paraphernalia
mammalian musculature
hide the heart of a snake
as she slithers across the floor
searching for the perfect surfactant
….her scaly skin itches, uncomfortably
tearing my lip skin
in the din
of her poorly lit closet –
together in terror, the admission seems worth the cost
lost in the sweet melody
of sobbing children
and clattering dishes
shattered visions
misgivings
estrangement entangled with commitment
obligations
oblivion and orange peals
appealing to a higher power
unanswered questions hover inconsequential
adding to the ozone depletion
and altered climate
owning blame
for all the world and her problems
I sit with shoulders slumped –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
I never thought dreamers could fly,
Seeping through winds, kissing the sky.
Dressing their bodies with tulles of white silk,
Impersonating clouds in their suits of bone milk.
I never thought dreamers could fly.
I always believed they were a part of the sky.
Not seeping through, but one with the wind,
A cosmos in their smiles, stars breeding in their mind.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 10:25 AM UTC
Thinking back to Thomas creek and sneaking a peak at the freaky little tweaker
in blown out sneakers a toothless mistress second guessing ******
thrift dressed house guest ******* up my speakers blown out woofer
wolfing down dinner mad slurping curry a beginner at twister
her sister, disaster, got caught ******* the Doberman.. unable to find sobriety
got gang ***** at the sorority doing an impression of Brad Dougherty
shoes to tall falling all wobbly knees knocking hostilely like a rasta in Montgomery
racially outcast Big Boi with a skin tare lash with passion unfashionable bastions
with rashes wear red sashes like Communist fascists I‘m a pacifist with a speeding fist
ready to dis any resistor to this transistor radio I eat filet-minion with boxers on
my mind be gone, like, no one’s home and this body roams all alone
with a ***** I’m a stoner, a postponer, ***** donor, out on loan
bought and paid for, caught with a lawnmower, impersonating a horn blower
like I was Gillespie at the Filmore, or Apollo theatre as a greater Walmart style
wearing a wife beater, not a reader, sort of a ******* not like Kim, more like
a mosquit-er drinking blood like it’s from a hummingbird feeder.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 6:03 PM UTC
The heat knocking through the glass,
Shaking the metal,
Our seats impersonating
Our body heat.
I looked out, a brief pause in journey.
The red light tirelessly blinked
Then and now,
Green would be a go.
He was peeling it off,
He asked me, as usual I said no.
One was handed to the man
With an upturned mustache on the front,
I could tell that was his pride.
Three were alined in a plastic bag,
Their fate still undecided.
Gentle but hurried taps on my window,
They had cars to cover
I think now.
Two little kids in ragged clothes,
I wonder is it the dust of the world
Or the filth of a society's failure
That stains their clothes brown,
Their faces black?
One was of the usual age
They're grown up at,
The other, the age
They begin at.
After a brief and short
And "matter of fact" discussion,
Bearing in mind the kids' busy schedule
I wound down the window,
And decided the three bananas' fate.
The grown one just ran to the next car,
Grown you see,
The little one
Yelped in happiness
Of the fruits rejected by me.
Nothing could sound more beautiful
Than the kid's exclamation
"Bananas"
A giggle.
The red turned off.
The driver smiled
Yet every act was but a drop
I could not collect
To fill the desert of doom.
The heat hovered
And hovered,
The heat that turned
Back at my home
Many bananas black
Until they were discarded.
The flies feasted upon,
The gun is pointed
At the kids.
Sometimes blood leaves no stain.
Sometimes the black stains
On bananas are of our souls.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
These treads of death, trends of aerial creatures.
'Twas a drama queen miscalculated affair.
She thought to herself, she wouldn't make it
To her planet.
Her eyes twitched. Her smile frowned.
She ditched her stilettos inside a hole
Floating on her bourbon, not drunk,
She hadn't seen the sun.
'Twas an alien Joan of Arc impersonating
a gymnast trying to drown
within purple clouds.
These lives of velvet, made so sweet.
I'm 'bout to pull out my rotten teeth,
And feed the devil, underneath me.
His skin so white
It glowed beyond your regular -
Transparent ice blue.
It made her shiver
Beyond his coat,
Faux-fur – smelt of blood,
So disgustingly dark.
He was my devil, made from snow – so pure.
He melted at my feet,
I hadn't shed a tear.
My white devil's inside me.
He found his way.
He is wrapped around my Intestines
So hard. He's left his cigarette
butts,
on my liver.
But it didn't hurt,
To burn
Like they said it would.
I loved my devil, made from snow.
These brown angels, stealing his lines.
These brown angels, how could they.
These brown angels, sold their wings.
For three ugly wigs.
He told me once, beaming in the dark
With several fish lying around dying: "Angels
Will never be brown."
Feb 2, 2010
Feb 2, 2010 at 1:02 AM UTC
The Mademoiselle I saw in the sea
Her dress impersonating the rhythm of the air
Her messy mahogany hair impersonating the rhythm of the dress.
The waves had their own cadence
just like how her tresses would cover her all of her face but her eyes
the waves would cover all of her body but her face
She was pretty tall. Even for the waves. Out of their reach.
She had the fingers of an artist. Shy and beautiful.
And every time they made way through her hair to her ears
Her beauty unfolded a little more.
Contemplating the sunset, she’d wrap her arms around her shoulders
I realized it isn’t everyday that you behold such magic when
the glowing sun, a crisp circle in the ****** sky
revealed a path in the meek waves that led directly to her
Impulses to take the initiative, capering all over me without fail
Though completely stupefied by her beauty, I could still remember every detail
Whether it was her eyes that gazed upon the horizon
or her toes that twitched under the water owing to the cold.
The interspace between us. A little extra than I asked for
Her silhouette against the subduing sky. I knew I was falling for her
Dear Mademoiselle I saw in the sea
Though enamored by all, you’re something more to me.
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, I fancy you to set me free
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, agree to receive my apology.
Wasn’t undaunted enough to talk to you then,
but I bespeak if I ever see you again
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, I wouldn’t just let you be
Mademoiselle I saw in the sea, I’d tell you
I’d tell you, you feel like home to me.
Mademoiselle, I saw in the sea, i’m not lying when I say I misseth thee
Feb 24, 2019
Feb 24, 2019 at 8:20 AM UTC
You say that i don't know you,
Or know of anything you're going through..
You say that i don't really love you
Or care about you
Because i say really sad things about myself and can't seem to be truthfully happy for you
But i've never loved anyone to the point where they became all i cared about, and though i can't be happy for you, i care enough to try to
You say that i don't know what the real world is like, or how harsh life can be
But I'm the one with the dark past and depression, forever catching up to me
I'm the one who lost a father in a war that could not possibly have been won
I know what it's like to lose people who mean everything,
Because i've been losing you and that's as harsh as anything
You say you're not pretty, you think sometimes i'm beautiful
Well let me tell you if you weren't in any way, as thought provoking and as breath taking as you are,
Would i really waste my time on all these poems for you?
You say that i don't know you..
But last year your favourite colour was turquoise, you wanted orchids at your future wedding, (which i may un-invite myself to) your favourite animal was the great panda bear,
Your secret talent was impersonating perry the platypus and you took 27 showers a day and drank posh tea, oh and you loved long hair.
Okay so now i don't know you so well
But i knew you,
I knew you more than time could tell
But now you're just a stranger.
The pretty girl with short hair
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 7:51 PM UTC
Looking at a computer screen
but seeing blue skies;
brain frying in radiation,
body floating in the open ocean.
Heels on concrete,
grass between toes.
Pounding on computer keys,
pricking on cactus spines.
Thinking of brand conversion
but dreaming of the Grand Canyon.
Impersonating relevance,
giving my rhymes a rest.
A fool for freedom
but a tool for currency.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 9:14 PM UTC
The man in the shroud appeared at my door
Impersonating Three-in-One persons
With his Two-D visage.
He said if I ironed him, a reversed negative image would appear
On the other side of him.
But I wanted to know,
Where are the wine stains from the Last Supper?
He replied that he'd changed clothing
Many times since that day.
The flora was exquisitely exact, he said-
Even the Calcium Carbonate signature of the cave was there.
I asked if it weren't all just a fake
And he asked me if we had the science yet to make even one?
And then he raised his arm
And called down one giga-bolt of the Infinite universal X-ray
With which he burned himself into my memory forever.
Jan 13, 2011
Jan 13, 2011 at 7:04 PM UTC
He shock the world.
When he shook his hips.
Have various people giving an opinion of him.
He shock the world.
When he curled his lips.
Soon there was many impersonating him.
Or least inspired by him.
The poor Mississippi boy that became a star.
Who serve his country?
And truly loved his mom.
Who had a manager called Colonel?
Who wasn't one at all?
We saw southerners and others saying he was ruining our youth.
But some probably thought this about Sinatra's too.
He did a few good movies.
And a few bad ones too.
Plus, he also shook here and there in those movies too.
Now, when people reflect back they states his greatness.
Plus, he still have many trying to impersonate him.
I just know he shock the world.
When he shook his hips.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 9:27 AM UTC
I gave you my heart
you gave me a fabrication of yours
I gave you my body
you strummed it like B.B. does Lucille
I gave you my trust
and you made a fool of me
I gave you me
you gave me games, manipulation and control
Seeing all this at my front door
i chose to close it
after i let you in
when everyone else chose
to walk around a black hole
I chose to jump in.
Once all my fruit spoiled
I recognized the parasite
in my midst was you
like an Indian giver
I took my gifts back
and i beseeched you to leave
with a facade of hate
Impersonating the reaper
you created a nightmare
your greediness was your downfall
you tried to take it all back and
were trying to take my soul
forcing me into battle with you
Now, though I will triumph in the battle
I struggle to piece together
my heart, my body and me
like before without battle scars
to prove you ever
existed to me
Apr 20, 2012
Apr 20, 2012 at 11:18 AM UTC
I have no room for new scars.
My heart is more glued seams than pieces of
Hope and muscle.
My smile is as pale as the back of a
Dalí painting; all canvas and
Dirt.
I have opened my arms for a hug and
Stood accused of impersonating Christ.
Meditation rendered me unsocial.
As misunderstood as Latin, yet
I yell at the walls of common reality with
The dead language of my innersoul,
Cursing and blaspheming for the attention
Of deities. Some may listen; not one needs
To reply.
All I want is to break down the wall
Between myself and any creator
Listening,
And say Thank You. The Love
Of my Life is
My life.
What I love the most about my
Life is
It.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
I have good news!
I held down some food,
made amends with two wise books,
I fell asleep ****
Today was filled with good news!
Tomorrow
I will fix my glasses,
wash the dishes;
cleaned my carpet.
Today was filled with "middle-of-the-road" news.
Staring contests with my ceiling,
I am ******* dejected from feeling
nightmares as my reality.
Where is the good news that ghosts
do not exist
but in the corners of the mind?
How I dread these long nights
of impersonating one who is healthy
because I showered
standing up
when I want to sit down.
Tonight was filled with questions without
answer.
By morning
it's good news that I pulled myself together.
I ate breakfast and I'm feeling
much better.
Now I can spend all day in the rain.
Today was filled with bright blues.
But wait!
Because I have more good news!
I am learning how to see clearly in the dark!
(I think.)
Oh it's just wonderful news
to know The Moon
and how to keep your wolves
at bay.
Today was just like every other day.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 9:05 PM UTC
Hiding in plain sight.
To guess it maybe you might.
To retire the music from the limelight.
A legend from the spotlight.
Disguised as a woman in the day but what about the night.
Impersonating a sister that never existed.
A genius person I know is gifted.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 10:21 PM UTC
Feathers torn from the gaping napes of wind began to dwindle and resist in spite of the gravity crushing tsunami.
Trapped in a facade of impersonating flowing rain every feather dived to their unplanned descent.
All drowning in the nightmarish truth of actually being smothered in tears of a blue eyed-giant as they fell from the sky of that big blue eye’s, dead decapitated face.
A face severed on a head that hid a heavenly chateaus inside a false impersonated globe forever resting among the stars.
Inside housed all kinds of dimensional beings rarely ever seen but all known to possess legendary archaic features.
They mastered all the realms and lastly rule our skies.
They are cold warriors of combat- handled by their deadly grace, poisonous envy, blinding halos, and suffocating wings…
Oh such undeniably divine things!
First plucked from you, then stolen from me!
A conscious belief known only by those who wish to remain unseen
as we become the common theory of all your pretty inanities.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 10:39 PM UTC
Impersonating the withering time spent in vacant prisons
None would heed the grief of the comatose televisions,
Seething silence, and things crack to pollute proceeding eyes
Of fishnet and waves conjured in the restful realms
My love for daydream is as much as nightmare
Neither it is in the day nor after horrid nightfalls
It is better to dream of horror than to dream of none
And to lavish the physique in mental salvation
In our daydream we still wander around
Chasing apostles and romance of ancient times
As for the dark dream in our mundane rest
Never get us to the eluding tide of winfer fire
Not even the embalmed hail of summer’s sweet liver
Of course, we know the pleasure of staying the night and burning shadows
Temperate, just like those faithful moments before we drown
Some might enjoy its darkness as it falls out of grace
Like after halos are dimmed, those are the reason the stars descend
Even the giddy stars would at some point come to a rest
Even if you have the power to shine as bright ever after
Please save ourselves from impersonating immortals
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
Tell me a story.
I want to know something incredible about you
and something boring about you, too.
Tell me about the time you broke your arm
impersonating a superhero.
Can I hear about the first time you fell in love?
Does that story have a happy ending?
You could tell me what you thought about
as you fell asleep last night.
I'll listen to what you thought
As you lay awake the night before.
Hell, I'd listen to you tell me
How you tie your shoes.
I don't care what we're talking about.
I just want to hear your voice.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC