"mimic" poems
He loves me, he loves me not
We're meant to be, or so I thought
My heart is broken, the pain is real
I long for peace, from all I feel
I fake a smile, so no one knows
I mimic strength, lest weakness shows
I refuse surrender, I stand and fight
I must succeed, and so I write
The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart, and I can breathe again
Minutes into hours, hours into days
The love I held so tightly, starts to fade away
The pain begins to lessen, the tears no longer fall
Seemed misery was forever but it's not that way at all
Those nights you haunt my dreams
Are now few and far between
When memories overtake me, I know I'll be alright
I know now what to do....and so I write
The ink it flows, pours from my pen
It heals my heart and I can breathe again
Yes, I can breathe again.
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 11:00 PM UTC
Copycat, copycat.
Mimic all that I do,
Even though
you know
it's not good for you.
Copycat, copycat.
Do not be a fool.
You can fool
So many people.
But not me;
I will not drool
All over you.
Copycat, copycat.
Giveback my life.
No, I do not care if copying me is how you survive.
No, I hate you a lot... so goodbye.
Copycat, copycat.
I shouldn't call you so:
You're a ***** and I hope that you know.
I appoint you head ***** from now on.
Bam! Scram!
It's about time that you've gone.
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 9:21 PM UTC
Flora and Fauna, the sisters of Season
Of Spring and of Summer
Allow now our drummer
To drum out the beat
For the feet of the sisters
To glide and to creep
Like the encroaching sleep
Which may perch on your shoulder if we cannot keep you awake
And on the edge of your seat, sir.
Now the former, sweet Flora, will finger the flute
While the other continues to glide and to slide
Like a sequined Venetian harlequin bride;
And now Fauna will mimic the movements of bird and of beast
As she graces the work of our landscape artiste
And all is completely unfeasible
Completely lacks reason
We guarantee.
Presently
In the eye of the beholder
Sweet Flora seemingly draws from the aether a lyre
And with flourishing fingers she plucks from the heavens
A song of the seasons, a pagan ode to Pan!
Behold! No aid of hoops, no strings
The vestal-virgin-harlot sisters sing
Of beautiful Persephone
And with unseen damselfly wings
Ascend from mediocrity
All melody forgotten
All the drums create cacophony
And you will find serenity in chaotic monotony
Now let this climaxing crescendo banish all your sorrowing!
No more that light; no more that sacred realm
Life’s door was dappled gloam; now all is black.
A man of wax with saintly, hollow eyes
Devoid of sin, devoid of love and light
That golden room is lost – you can’t turn back.
Now love has lost its lustre - lust lost joy
And coy eyes turn to watch the empty man
Struck by eternal beauty, and condemned
To haunt the broken world of mortal men;
And shrilling wind caresses empty hand.
Jul 2, 2012
Jul 2, 2012 at 12:01 PM UTC
" write a compassionate poem to describe him "
What word could deserve your definition?
Perfection is unworthy
Gracious, is it truly?
Rough hands so carelessly comforting
Eyes deeply embedded in a trance
A laugh so warm, to mimic the flames
But you are my fire
My every desire
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
The only consistent thing having my back is my corset
always try to build connections but will never force it
I have come to peace with oneness, I know its all about how I perceive aloneness
Cannot say that some days I do not sway
Teardrops mimic the rains, falling falling away
Each day different energy to conquer
An ambitious rida like my anthem by Tupac Shakur
Summer perfumed memories making me hate the chilly breeze
Such a beautiful array of colours but my mind is stuck on green
Memories of the nights we laid underneath the moon's eyes
Everyday communication through the 3 and 5-D
Forget how much I loved my own eyes, vivid green that can pierce through lies
Hips blessed with the holy fruit of the divine
With you and without everyone I will continue to thrive
As long as I can inhale., I will thrive
As long as my hands are mine to control, I will express my thoughts on my mind
As long as my spine allows, I will climb that mountain no doubt
Always extending the lands I have touched.
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 10:14 AM UTC
Adapt & absorb other beings,
needs,wants, habits, ideas, beliefs.
Influences, unoriginal.
Metamorphosis,
eternally avoiding the raw,wicked truth of your inner soul,
drop the ******* facade, it is futile and ludicrous.
Analyze,compare, identify, mimic, imitate, copy,shift, evolve.
Perpetual cycle.
Veiled false identities and lies,
layers upon layers, shirk the pale shadows of who we used to be.
Shall we continue?
Contradiction.
Fools, to believe that one can ever change.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC
Bursting cherries
remind me of
the vibrancy of your
curious lips
Juicy peaches
drippin' down your
chin; a memory
from years
before.
Sour lemons
perking you up,
for the hungry
kiss.
Oranges glisten as
they mimic
sundown in the
city.
Sunsets gleam
orange and yellow,
illuminating crowds of
individuals, morphing
everyone into
no-one.
Alone, you peak through;
standing with
intention and innocence
among the shadows and
empty bodies, admiring
Mother Nature's
harvest.
You stand there
looking as sweet as
a fig; as wild and ripe
as a strawberry,
just waiting
to get
eaten.
Just waiting for
me to
place my lips
so delicately around
the curve of your
ripened
body.
Sep 2, 2018
Sep 2, 2018 at 9:48 PM UTC
We all live our lives
Hidden behind the masks we switch out based on who we're around:
Fake smiles for friends and family;
Painful, quiet thoughtfulness for coworkers, employers, and educators;
Horrible secrets we keep from everyone we meet;
From everyone we love
And sometimes, these masks are gorgeous,
Like those you'd see at a masquerade.
Masks that mimic what's really there,
Yet hide it from sight as well.
And everyone who wears these masks
Will look and a mirror and think to themselves:
"Who am I? Why don't I recognize this person reflected back at me?"
It's the mask.
We wear the mask.
We hide behind it.
But when did the mask become us?
When did it become everything we are?
When did these masks start taking control?
Will we let this continue?
When does it stop?
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 10:49 PM UTC
You know that poem about your lips?
And the one about your soft caress?
Those doesn't apply to tonight
My thoughts are not slow, not gentle
The softness of your touch
Throw that out the window
I want it to be rough
Forget the foreplay
Lets just start the play
Tonight, I'll let you pick
Want the handcuffs, without the key
Or do you want the stiffness in a whip?
Forget the bed, take it to the floor
Give you a spank, and those headlights,
I'll get a grip untill they're sore.
If you must have a good kiss
Then I must ask you, girl
Which lips should I give this kiss?
Is it the control you crave?
Well then, cowgirl, load the gun
Grab the bearings and give them a roll
Tonight, let's let it out and have some fun
We can go on a mission, happy trails
Take it to the couch or even the table
Leave welted streaks with your nails
Turn up the radio to drown the moans
Back up and head down, we can mimic the dogs
Pillow, headfirst to muffle the groans
To the edge of the bed, make it wet
I don't want it easy, darling
All I really want is to get
That shirt off your chest
Those jeans off your ***
Those curves are the best
Lets not let this opportunity pass
I don't want it easy, baby
My thoughts are not gentle, not slow
So come on woman, lets go!
Jan 30, 2011
Jan 30, 2011 at 7:41 PM UTC
Busy old fool, unruly sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers’ seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late schoolboys and sour ‘prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the King will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices;
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams so reverend and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink
But that I would not lose her sight so long:
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and, tomorrow late, tell me
Whether both th’ Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left’st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw’st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear ‘All here in one bed lay’.
She is all states, and all princes I;
Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compared to this,
All honour’s mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world’s contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that’s done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls thy sphere.
4.3k
Within this restless, hurried, modern world
We took our hearts’ full pleasure—You and I,
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
And spent the lading of our argosy.
Wherefore my cheeks before their time are wan,
For very weeping is my gladness fled,
Sorrow has paled my young mouth’s vermilion,
And Ruin draws the curtains of my bed.
But all this crowded life has been to thee
No more than lyre, or lute, or subtle spell
Of viols, or the music of the sea
That sleeps, a mimic echo, in the shell.
4.3k
i don't know what my father sounds like when he laughs,
laughs where his sides are splitting and tears are in his eyes.
i only know his grin, his slight chuckle.
honestly, i hardly remember his voice;
something about a southern drawl
gently dabbed on syllables
spit out between the touch of nicotine, wrapped
in paper, to his lips.
i know the clothes that i wear mimic
his choice in clothes, somehow.
i know he will not walk me down the aisle,
and this is my decision.
this is my decision, and it will break my heart.
it will break my heart only
because it will break his,
like genetics somehow link emotion
across generations.
i cannot let him run my life,
like pretending to own a car that
isn't in his name;
borrowed from the person who
washes it gently, details the inside,
maintains its running parts.
turning children into property,
it's like trying to take a house that
you used to live in, years and years ago,
but forgot you had the keys to.
you test the locks, and when the door welcomes you
in for the first steps across a threshold
you call it "home" again.
you forget that there is a family on the couches.
a mother cleaning the kitchen.
a brother fixing the shudders.
the house has moved on,
but cannot bear to close its door to you.
this is our relationship.
this is our dynamic.
it has taught me that it hurts to tell him no.
it is expected for him to not care what hurts.
it has taught me how to run from guilt and shame,
destroying past and future in fits of
self-destructive rage,
just to forget the things i've done
or are happening to me.
it's taught me how it feels for a heart to break
from forgetting pieces of someone it loves.
but this hasn't taught me how to fix it,
and i don't think he knows how to, either.
Mar 31, 2012
Mar 31, 2012 at 1:25 AM UTC
It's poisonous claws
scratching up from the inside
of my chest, they open
a path of lurid squalor
festering the internal wounds
with rotting meat
that spreads from within
to the skin that crawls
and dies, cell by cell
into the empty stale air
surrounding our conversation
The words float
from one breath to another
without ever really landing
to a precise spot
of connection
They just mimic meanings
and thoughtfulness
when they are void of any feelings
There is no spark of life
no life itself
denied to us
by the putrid scent
we ignore the existence of
No knowledge of pain
or reality
just a dull sense
of immortality
as we still
like the dust suspended
motion our lips without sense
nor sense of self
Corroding second by second
by second 'til we
become dust ourselves
Apr 25, 2022
Apr 25, 2022 at 8:53 AM UTC
Lo! ’tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the angels sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
4.3k
Is that an Echo? I hear someone talking back
Is it me? Have I begun to crack?
Heart break memories I have stacks
So tell me "Echo" what do I lack?
Adventure..more games..unique...yet all the same
Maybe its me..Happiness I try to maintain..
To only feel love in moments of hate
Set fire to surroundings as I instigate
Scorpion tail swings..Who did I devastate?
Poison transformed new energy we create
Like a ball toss it to me..
This ball can transcend multiple realities
What you see have no regret..You'll get back what you spent
Memories squat pay no rent..In your head sit like an Elephant
To much pressure no more room
Echo roars back with a sonic boom
Melodic devastating is the tune
Every wolf on the planet howls at the moon
So tell me echo what you think about that?
Can you match me wit for wit..always come back?
Beyond the mirror..see the cracks..
Read scars share stories of many attacks
Stay with me Echo..ugh..Please remain..
Add to my voice when it begins to..strain
Feel my every loss with you I gain
Mimic my heart..Oh Echo..Share the pain..
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
He stirs, slowly...
watching the spoon,
break the fog,
settling over his morning cup...
opalescent eyes,
scanning the sleepy blue,
of daytime horizons.
Porcelain fingers, shift
into hard, ceramic claws;
first smoothing up,
snuggly cotton pantlegs,
and then running them down,
forcing his navied thighs, to separate.
The fork, in the road,
as I crawl in, between them,
headlights, and a glossy smile,
on full beam.
He jerks, with surprise
at the unexpected motion,
lips, arrested in a subtle purse--
a pinched pink,
pouted gently, outwards
to blow away the steam
gathering, around tense fingers.
I mimic the tension,
with my own, slaking lips.
Hands shift,
to cup him,
and slide, upwards.
Suddenly, he needs two,
to grip the mug.
My tongue, slicks out,
wetly,
to follow his ascent,
as he stands, upright;
neapolitan soldier,
with the suede skin.
The heat,
gathers,
in my palms
flushing his thighs,
and it circulates, warmly
against flickering flesh;
mouth, moving limberly
to drink him,
under the table.
My feral eyes,
fix his drunken ones,
as we both take each other,
in.
"I hope you saved some cream, for me?
Good morning, honey."
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC
What do you want?
I weighted your stare.
There’s no meat on the bones. You’re gonna have to pray.
I given in; I’m unable to moves forward.
Supply me air, tease no longer.
Another man mimic me. Yellow highlighted performances.
Picture, pictures, picture
God, what have I done?
You stop, three silent moments. Reload.
More pictures, even more, her without me.
This hurts. I cry.
She’s gorgeous, her eyes, her smiles, her hairs; beautiful, lovely beyond compare, her nails on hips, impressive. Attitude, coach purse and boots,
too far gone, a glimpse. Guns to roses
You have destroyed me, gram of sugars and Popsicle sticks on the living room’s floor.
What do you want, that dog no Hunt.
Pictures, pictures some pictures of you.
Season changes, people changes,
remove your hands from her view or leave me be.
Jul 24, 2014
Jul 24, 2014 at 12:40 PM UTC
Dear Arjana,
Isis told me that you left your paradise for love in disguise
Camouflage love
Erroneous love
Inaccurate love
Artificial love
Mimic love
Man-made love
...
Substitute love
...
I can't trust the "fact" that you wanna desert me only to hydrate a man who's life is so sparse with affection
Can't you tell by how devoid his life is of women?
He can't storm into your life and bring forth lush
He can't be your sunshine and make you feel tropic
He can't have you sprung and spring you out of your glacial phase
...Smh
Bottom line Arjana babe
Is that he cannot draw the line between your north and south poles where it's typically warm when I'm around and rock your equator wild as a 200 miles per hour cyclone Lol!!!
...
He just can't
And I could
So why do you even give G-Gwa-Gwala a chance?
However you say his name!
You need to come back home to your paradise
Before you end up a dystopian
Please reply =-|
Sincerely Masika "Zola" Oluchi
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 4:55 AM UTC
Bring your own juice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How is someone supposed to put into
words that they feel/ have been made (self)-aware(somehow) there personality adapts (naturally)?
to the people they are around and even beginning
to mimic the interacting persons emotions and personality traits
to create a, sociable personality.
because depression has taken a dramatic toll on their personality and they know longer know how to
Be there own person:
I often forget about the things i actually enjoy doing
because I'm not surrounded by people that enjoy doing the same things.
I love to write
I love to read
I like to play the guitar
I like to create art
and
I love making people happy!
So what could possibly be wrong?
Why do I loose my sense of self when I'm with others?
Nov 1, 2016
Nov 1, 2016 at 1:23 AM UTC
I’m your favorite kind of rain
That goes down a drain slowly like I can
Mimic your movements
Simply by asking you how you feel
Now, it doesn’t rain your favorite all the time
Most of the time I get this extra burden
But you’re my umbrella that’s keeping me dry
From stress, anger and despair
Pouring out from a raincloud called, “Thing’s I don’t want to face today”
Let it pour
I know you’ll cover me from my problems
As long as I hold you up from yours
Jan 18, 2011
Jan 18, 2011 at 11:20 PM UTC
crown jellyfish,
i want you for my own,
to constantly float and hover
on my ceiling.
it seems to be too much to ask
the transparent glory
the delicate tendrils
the secretive nature
why do you want to hide
in the seas?
predator and prey
instead of being
a distraction for me?
i want you to go against
your nature
remake your breath
forego your nourishment
and glow for me, instead
why is the world
so unyielding,
crown jellyfish?
so inflexible and unkind
sticking to its earthly rules?
for me you would be
a thing of beauty
not just a creature
trying to survive
but this cannot be so
instead i must mimic you
use you as inspiration
and create new
t h i n g s
it's a shame, really.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 8:10 PM UTC
As you radiate across the sky;
I cant help but wonder,
Am i staring to a real sparkle?
As i lay eyes upon your shine;
And be fascinated by your glow,
I determined that you are just a mimic of a genuine luminous sphere.
Nothing more , nothing less.
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 9:07 PM UTC