"photocopy" poems
Clayton
How I know you
Paternal parenting
DNA infused
Carbon contribution, to my physique
Father
In everything
My skin, eyes toes,
Unfortunately; inside my mouth
Spitting plaster-walled
Copy-paste personality
The same
Intimately
Close-dangerously
Different
Me a bold-faced fraction of ill abated love
Something that didn't work out
Photocopy
Blond-blasphemy of useless flesh
Reminder of her
Mom
Enough!
Teeter tottering
Tip-Toe tangling opinion
Excuses
Words fermented
Rotting-rigor
I know you.
Slit-eyed palefaced ****** of bigot ideas
Bearing pronged poker
Clicking glinting-clawed finger fondling fake religion
Suppressing supplement thought
********
God's love the good life
Living a life to be proud of
Excuse me!
For not being as I am "supposed" to be
Eatting rancid lies
Your reality relative
To kiss-ass preferred siblings
Who like the taste of ****
What you shovel
Hung on lipsucking harlot, hinged hip hung-over
Descending oppressidly upon willing wanton will of man
Letting cracked-cackled toothed
Field Gap-smile
Decide your next move
I know you
I see what you push into hidden corners
The bias, nasty film of your character
Under whitecollar shirttails
Citizen, Patriot
Americas American
I know you
Your oppression
Not new
As underhanded and seedy as it was
And still is
I know you
As much as I'd like not too.
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
right left right left right left right
we walk this path from day to night
front to back and side to side
these blinders keep us calm inside
inside; a beat that we walk to
what does that beat mean to you?
to pump the blood that keeps you well?
or does it prolong your living hell?
if that beat began to slow
until they said there was no flow
then all the things that were ahead
would vanish with the words "he's dead"
if you could look him in the eye
the younger you just might cry
and ask you why you didn't even try
to be that "motorcycle guy"
it's too bad but it seems to be
dreams have become idiocracy
full of nos and won'ts and can'ts
because you bought some big-boy-pants
and with them on you chose to be
the you that lacks originality
to take yourself so seriously
defines a loss of dignity
so sold on how these things must go
you photocopy the status quo
embrace all that you can call you
the fun, the weird, the nerdy too
let it pour out of your soul
onto a canvas; break the mold
until the day when you decide
to let your heart shine from inside
and be the you that lives with ease
accept the flaws; the insecurities
you will walk down those same streets
a miracle stripped to a monotonous beat
so look within to find that passion
it's up to you to take the action
just believe; call this the start
just believe; follow your heart
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
if a sound could be grainy
like a photo with the ISO too high
over-compensating for the light that shone too dim
through the patterned curtains in your bedroom
in your mother’s old house
where the peaches tasted better in water than in sugar and that had never
ever happened
not since you were three years old when your grandmother
who was not yet too old to do much besides eat TV dinners
and watch ‘the price is right’
before your grandfather’s funeral
where you ruined your velvet dress
spilling cheap coffee all over the bodice
(if it had been good coffee the situation would be
entirely different)
the sound of you
exhaling like a train rolling right past the house
shaking the walls and the floor and the sofa
less and less as it gets farther away
you sound
grainy
like a photocopy
and i can’t find
the original
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Faded tree figures loom near,
visible as a smear
on what used to be the Mona Lisa.
The great work of art
goes to waste
as its paint is fingered,
by each person,
like its some sort of photocopy,
covering the masterpiece
with old, dirt, and impurities
that are not naturally occurring on skin.
Leonardo da Vinci would be appalled
at our treatment of his gift,
made to be given to one person,
yet he loved it...
and gave it to us instead.
Now stare once again
at its poor condition.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 3:10 PM UTC
I'm a passenger in my own mind
what a turbulent ride
no space to relax
no physics to abide
I'm a passenger in my body
a fixture placed in a lobby
immobile, collecting dust
a degraded photocopy
I've been a passenger all my life
an inconvenient alibi
strapped into padded dreams
unable to depolarize
The day I grab the wheel
I know I'll be alright
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 1:42 AM UTC
I knew an undergraduate at college
who spent his days asleep, or drinking beer;
he never needed academic knowledge
until the day of reckoning drew near,
when, as he found his time was growing short,
he’d borrow books, or photocopy them,
and, downing frantic coffee by the quart,
he’d burn the midnight oil, till five a.m.
It puzzles me a little when I find
the ones who press conversion at the end
expecting atheists to change their mind
in panic, like our coffee-drinking friend,
with fingers crossed and hoping for the best
in case this life’s continuously assessed.
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 8:26 AM UTC
I do not wish to reduplicate
From you and the past
I want to break
However, I reckon
Unconsciously
I am attracted
To the same facets
Persistently.
All I have been inclined to
The last couple of months
Is stop being reminded of you
But what seems to
Entice me
Bits and pieces of you
In another individual
I see.
How can I start anew
When deep in my heart
All I still desire is you
My heart
Set on ice and fire
Is history
Then why am I doing
A photocopy.
It is not deliberate
But what seduces me
Are colors of a similar palette
How am I to let go
If still submerged in shadow
Though I know it is another person
Am I following
An identical pattern.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 9:32 AM UTC
The ocean is a crumbled photocopy of a cloudless sky.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 10:05 AM UTC
give a moment of clarity to pull me out of the haze, won’t you? days have passed since i last remembered your name and even more have passed since i last forgot the scent of your clothes. your body is a synthetic imitation of a real one. i last saw you in a place you weren’t and that could be just because of a lack of some part of my sense i lost, i always was so forgetful.
define me this way: a monster of your making. the beauty you lost years ago when all you could mutter out of your chapped winter lips was please.
take me to a place where all the skies are blue, won’t you? days will come when i can’t really remember your name and even more will pass until the scent of your clothes become the scent of mine. your face is photocopy of an angel’s. i can see you in the puddle of the water, swimming with the tadpoles.
define me this way: no one important. everything you never really wanted to have.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
True to
The saying
“The pen is mightier
Than the sword”
To your enemies
Deep-cutting and
Mask-divesting
Were every of
Your acerbic satire, also
Bitter-truth packed word.
“To ignore
His pen we ill afford
Nor could we
Fight him back
Word for word.
So covertly
Let us
Strike him down
With a sword
About his whereabouts
Effacing a word!” they said
Forgetting
As a writer Baalu
Was worth his weight
In gold,
Whose books strangely
In large numbers sold
Though some of them,
To gut down,
They did try to hoard.
For want of
A photocopy machine then
Many were happy
To distribute
A hand-written copy.
Deep when you think,
Your pen when you pick
With it loud to speak,
Your subjects used to jump
Out of their skin
Scared of a basilisk!
Your pen
On your characters' neck
A pain
Was haunting their brain!
Yes your pen
Was their bane!
Dust to dust
You and also your enemies
With their sword
Had hopped on
Death's bandwagon
Yet your pen
Surfing back
The tide of time
Resurfaces again.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
Parents arranged my marriage with a girl.
I liked her at first sight—young and chirpy.
And I made up my mind to marry her soon.
In the followup to the marriage,
We interacted with each other,
In the beginning, I liked her.
Soon, courtship turned one-sided,
I was the only one interested,
Insulting me, she started.
She had a problem with quick love.
Berated me for saying it so soon,
She told me to behave mature.
I accepted her remarks,
The criticism of my ways,
I focused on all my means.
I proudly told her that I didn't give up.
The coma-inducing accident, and
Injuries couldn't reduce me.
I told her about how I literally won a war,
A war against time and disability,
The doctors labeled me as 42% challenged.
"But I didn't give up," I told her.
I defeated my disability,
And all of their speculations.
When I passed into that coma,
After the accident, I'd die,
They had speculated.
When they diagnosed me 42%,
I will do some easier work,
They all had guessed.
They wanted me to drop out of college,
Oh, they want me to be humble,
Be humble and accept fate.
Not that the other job is easier,
But they wanted me to set up a shop,
For daily needs, stationery & photocopy.
Even my mother wanted me to drop out.
Leave the B.Tech. Biotech incomplete,
Opt for an easier course instead.
But I told her that I didn't give up,
No, I did not; I did not give up.
I fought my way to the top.
I cleared my B.Tech. degree in Biotechnology,
Not only that degree, but my story continues,
Attained an M.Tech. in Animal Biotechnology.
I initiated a PhD in Animal Biotechnology,
However, I had to quit it due to COVID19,
I lost my opportunity due to the pandemic.
But she, out of her own regret,
Regretted about not being able,
To clear exams, me she insulted.
"People with disability achieve more."
I felt belittled, but she continued,
"They even crack UPSC-CSE."
I'm not disabled since birth.
No, I'm not, I'm not, I told her.
This disability I acquired in 2010.
I told her the same,
But she did not realise it.
How wrong she was.
How she had insulted me and my struggles,
I can't marry her,
The man I am today is after my struggles.
Though she loved my poetry,
The 'Angel?' Saga the most,
But she insulted my history.
She even compared my life against others.
As if she knows all the people like me,
My dreams shattered due to that accident.
No, she knows everyone not,
She doesn't know others who gave up.
Look at me; I didn't give up, but I'm victorious.
But she was not impressed.
She is rigid and argumentative.
Never going to apologise & accept.
I told her mother that I couldn't marry her.
Why? Because she doesn't know humility.
Obviously, she can never respect me either.
She wanted me to respect her.
She thought that only hers matters.
Because I live in the inferiority complex.
Sep 16, 2024
Sep 16, 2024 at 2:23 AM UTC
I’ve done it since I was a child,
Collapse onto your lap as if the world was a little too heavy and somehow your body moulds to my form, weight. Accommodating every sigh, listening to the symphony that is the sound of your tummy gurgling late at night.
I can no longer fit into your arms, I am no longer your tiny footed photocopy. I have now grown strong, powerful- forged from the flesh of a titan.
Somehow, I always want the world to meet you but I know I don’t talk about you nearly enough.
It’s because no words could ever accurately capture the nuance of mother nature that is you.
And you are my mother, the force of nature from which my biological cloth is cut.
You are home in the most primal sense and I am in love. In love with the way you carry yourself, soft hands, kindness rubbing rythnmic circles on my back when I feel sick.
You are the foundations of my soul on two legs and I will always be thankful for the nature of your love, firm but constant, like a waterfall.
In a constant stream your love has broken rock, moved mountains and convinced me I can do the same.
You are a force of nature, powerful beyond belief.
You are my mother, and I will always be your child.
Standing in the sand storm of life my feet will always remain firmly planted on the ground, well aware of the roots from whence I came. You are the freshest breath of life that I have been lucky enough to be nurtured by.
You are my mother, warrior, laughter in inappropriate moments.
You are my healer, you are the wind that blows the sea that is me , onto the shore- further each time. Destined to achieve more.
You are an ambitious icon.
You are the love that vibrates in each of my cells, you are the boldness in each step I take- affirmed and aware that rejection has no claim to me, pales in comparison to the great love I have received.
You are my mother,
Four words which will never begin to capture the power of who you are and what you mean to me.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 8:07 AM UTC
Blueberries blossom-trees,
Clouds made of soap-bubbles,
Creamy grass and foamy bushes
Of roses blue, purple and grey,
Grapes of red and Orange,
Wines of crystal clear greens,
Red-irises to tell of feelings
Too hot or too sad
Burning hues in a phtograph back home,
Where I don't want to go;
Chariots dragged by stallions
And spaceahips to take us to explore
Other natures...
No poverty, no suffering...
No twisted games,
Just peace...
Guns not allowed here.
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 4:19 PM UTC
Today I noticed the stamp
On the back of my hand
It had been there all along
But today, somehow, my eyes caught the perfectly inscribed numbers
placed casually next to each other.
Suddenly, all the people around me had the exact same label engraved on the palm of their hands.
As I stared at the calligraphy of the letters and the numbers, and at the spaces between each,
I understood the root of the code we have all lived by
I sensed the metal scraps we have allowed to engulf our skins
I painfully recognized my mind as a photocopy of another one, and another one.
So I got up, and started reading a book.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 3:34 AM UTC
I think I might be drowning?
Drowning?
Frowning and crowning myself a queen, because that's what I'm told I am.
I am by all intents and purposes; human in the flesh.
I've seen love and labour lost too many times,
I've seen cost and favour tossed to one side.
I'm a lean, mean regurgitating machine.
I give out party favours like I'm frightened to bite the hand that feeds.
I'm a photocopy of my own originality,
With the PERSONALITY of tracing paper.
I look in the mirror and marvel at myself growing thicker,
My imagination getting thinner,
My appreciation depreciating at the very thought of my dinner.
What can I eat but calories on a stick?
Thick,
thick...
thick.
Each mouthful a new trick conjured by someone trying to tease me, Ease me into a wobbling lump,
A frump,
A place where they can dump their new ideas and findings,
Their light bulb moments so blinding they lead people like me to their deaths.
Because what do I need but another mouth to feed?
The mouth in my brain that's desperate for instruction,
Construction,
DESTRUCTION of its cells.
Each thought more macabre than the last as I dissect the absolute FARCE that has become my identity.
I am by all intents and purposes human in the flesh.
A sack full of bones and DNA,
Of which, so they say, differ from body to body.
And yet I'm a clone of everyone I've known because everyone's left Their imprint on me.
I may not have wanted it but I had no choice,
No voice,
No ability to say no.
Because I couldn't find the right words to dictate what I wanted to say.
My tongue wouldn't move in an articulate way,
So I forgot how to speak.
And now I find myself silenced; a mute of imagination,
A lack of creation,
Practically a crustacean- I'm a mere shell of what I once was.
Which brings me back to drowning.
Drowning?
In waters so harsh but land is so sparse how do I get back?
Because creativity is the building blocks of humanity without we are Lost out to sea.
Jan 7, 2018
Jan 7, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
white skin
the right skin
i havent got that light skin
dark neither
im just a shade inbetween
and what does that mean?
im never seen
as the person i am,
only not white enough
not dark enough
not good enough
well im trying
im trying to fit
but pictures arent complete
when half the pictures missing.
rejected by both sides
how can you take pride
when you dont look the part?
its been an art
to refine
walking on the fine line
between them and them
but lately theyve asked me
silent words
to jump off that ledge
push over the edge
but which one?
help me help me help me
but you cant can you?
because the blood in your body
the same as their veins
makes you not understand.
a predisposition
a position
taken by yourself
or by society?
and when i work twice as hard
but she
with her photocopy paper
money and skin
when i do everything you ask
and more?
you take her money
you take her skin
you give her another opportunity
to prove something
her colour’s already proven
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 2:44 PM UTC
Life is a four letter word powerful enough to change the whole world🌍
It's plenty of surprises that cannot be seen nor heard..
It can only be lived,
till we meet what we were born for..
death
And we leave with the memories left..
How to live?
Who to believe?
Life is a moment,
And for you it was meant..
What's right for them can be wrong for you,
Cause only you know what you go through...no matter their point of view..
Don't let life be just another word among many in a simple dictionary..
Live it the way nobody else ever did..
Impossible?
More than 7 billion people,
And god is still creating instead of just photocopying..
Then why be a photocopy?
Only you know how to live..
Life never deceives..
Be who you wanna be,
See life the way you wanna see..
Cause YOUR life has never been lived before..
Let them all out and close the door🚪
There's a specific reason why god chose to put only one specific soul in a specific body,
So that you're free to make your own choices..
Why listen to those voices?
Living a life already lived contains too much expectations..
You are one in billions..
What is life?
Lying on your death bed,
With millions of memories in your head,
As your vision fades away,
As time ticks life away..
You will find out that you've lived it's definition all life long🌼
-Sharvish®
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 5:57 PM UTC
Landmarks of years passed.
Snapshots are easier to remember than memories.
I study them like math once.
I looked upon the tiger's year.
And saw my mother's face in my own for the first time.
A milestone of this pain she gave me.
Was I allowed to look like her now that she was leaving?
Aug 18, 2025
Aug 18, 2025 at 10:03 PM UTC
A six year old once
Thought of a great plan
A huge kite
Made out of ivory sheets,
Broomsticks and yarn spool
Finish it before evening
Tie himself
Ride the breeze
And fly to the moon
He knew every evening
Winds died out by the time bells ring
In temple at street corner
And be finished before seven thirty
When mom shouts him down the roof
One of the troubles
Was he didn’t have anyone
To hold the string in place
But tying the kite to
Iron grill would work he assumed
But his sister won’t tell him
Where the glue was
And he didn't have enough string
To reach the moon
So he borrowed some
Wool yarn from an unfinished
Sweater grandma made last year
A matching red for my kite
But much to do
With not much time
Sky was getting orangier
Mosquitoes noisier
Time for quick decisions
Sitting on water tank
Gazing at the sky
Kids flying them like inebriated pilots
Failing and falling like leaves
Thinking of those fools
I could do better
Fly higher
If only a bit older
Three decades later
Searching for a forsaken photocopy
He found a drawing
Made on a summer evening
A red kite smiling in clouds
With a half moon behind it
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
I have really bad anxiety, so I really don't like talking to strangers.
At the library, I brought ten cents, a roll of tape, and scissors from home.
I did this so I could make a photocopy, and not have to deal with people.
However, when I used the photocopier, I did it wrong, and got nothing.
So, I had to go and ask for help.
I was a little bit nervous, but more annoyed with the photocopier.
Actually, I kept thinking it was because the photocopier just wasn't working right.
So, after I went to the front desk, they redirected me to the reference desk upstairs.
Now, I just thanked the lady, and went upstairs to get some help from them.
The lady up there and nice and helped me, and I learned that I had done it wrong when I was downstairs.
After I thanked her for her help, I stayed upstairs & went to an empty left sided cubby, & my schedule didn't change after that.
I didn't realize until I was done with my Japanese studying for the day, that I hadn't had an anxiety attack.
And just now, I realized why that was.
I was so busy needing help to photocopy, that I just didn't think about it.
I didn't think that I was talking to a complete stranger, because I was too busy thinking about my task at hand.
Now, this might not be possible for me every day, but today, it was.
And with how bad my anxiety is, it makes me happy when I don't succumb to it.
I mean, just now, I have to try and contain it, because someone sat down beside me at the other guest computer here downstairs.
This makes me anxious, but she's not talking to me, so I'm just trying to act like she's not there.
I always get nervous that someone's gonna talk to me, for some reason.
And if someone talks to me while I'm eating when I'm outside, I just concentrate on my food, so I don't shut down.
I can talk for a second, but I always feel relieved when they walk away.
I mean, the lady just left, and I feel more at ease now.
I hate feeling this way, but that's the way it is.
I'm still learning how to manage my anxiety, but I did get things done today, so I think I'm doing okay.
Alright, I only have 6 more minutes until my 20 minutes on this guest computer are up, then I'm gonna go eat.
You know, I like this schedule, I really like coming to the library.
I actually wanna write a lot more, but I don't have much time.
I might write more when I go upstairs for the 120 minutes that those computers provide, but I might not.
I still have to work on my notebook that I'm writing for my new story.
But first, I have to complete all of the notebook, then I have to completely type up everything that I wrote down.
And when it comes to printing it out, that will be done at home.
At least, I hope it will be done at home.
I just don't wanna be a nuisance to everyone else who may want the printer.
But that's at least another week or two down the road, so I don't even need to think about that right now.
Alright, I think I'm done until after I eat my lunch and go back upstairs.
And I'm not going to say bye, because I think I'm gonna come back on before I continue working on the notebook.
So instead, I'll say, see you later!
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC