Copycat
This is about a girl who makes things up in order to get people to read her shitty poety and listen to her shitty singing. She thinks it's turning heads but she has literally borrowed her life from TV movies and books. I know, because I know my TV movies and books. I have never met anyone more pathetic and phony in my life. So I wrote a poem about her, actually all the wannabes I ever met rather. Here it is.
A wannabe artistWho owns a catOne has a litterboxSincere it it’s feline exploitsThe other insincereNot real, pure fiction
Science fictionAn experiment gone wrongA sad, long funeral songTo an identity she never hadAnd now wantonly steals
First a blondeNow a red headWhatever gets you in bedWith the phony manWho gives you the phony lie you desire
Will you be the beautiful lady you desire?The girl they all admire?As you make up another tale for saleWith the angst you claim you haveWith your made up backstory sans publicist?
What is this, the bipolar mother?The lazy genius father?Not true, why botherTo clear up the inconsistenciesIn your story?
My family insanity you whineAs you down it with another glass of wineMaybe you will drink yourself into obscurityBecause it takes talent to write poetrySomething you don’t have
You pray it will make you a popular writerYou hope it will make you a popular singerAs they say you are a dead ringer For that girl and her stylePerhaps the next big thing.
Maybe it will make you popular behind the micTelling jokes, slamming wordsWhatever you likeTo boost your lack of self worthBut that too involves talent
Picked on in school, now were you?Despite being tall and modelesqueThat was your fateYou never struggled with your weightThis too is your borrowed tale.
What about your blemished skin?Unless it was a blotchy disgraceAs you covered your faceBut you are as smooth as a baby’s bottomActually, you are an ass.
Rough neighborhood oh you did that too?I guess there were a thousand tales like itThen there was youRich friend let you borrow her addressAnd then gave you money like Pip in Great Expectations.
A life put together like a trash novelReady to sell for a dime on the shelfBorrowed stories from othersBecause it is too hard to be yourselfIn this mish mash called life.
A guy who chews you like gum because that’s all you areSpits you out like dollar store food because that is who you areOnce Coney Island White TrashAlways the member of the lower classAlways on the bottom of my boot like soot
And we all know it including your manDirtier and more useless than old cleaning socksStomp you into the litter boxAs you try to be like Robert FrostNow go die a borrowed death as he rolls in his grave.
A wannabe artistWho owns a catOne has a litterboxSincere it it’s feline exploitsThe other insincereNot real, pure fiction
Science fictionAn experiment gone wrongA sad, long funeral songTo an identity she never hadAnd now wantonly steals
First a blondeNow a red headWhatever gets you in bedWith the phony manWho gives you the phony lie you desire
Will you be the beautiful lady you desire?The girl they all admire?As you make up another tale for saleWith the angst you claim you haveWith your made up backstory sans publicist?
What is this, the bipolar mother?The lazy genius father?Not true, why botherTo clear up the inconsistenciesIn your story?
My family insanity you whineAs you down it with another glass of wineMaybe you will drink yourself into obscurityBecause it takes talent to write poetrySomething you don’t have
You pray it will make you a popular writerYou hope it will make you a popular singerAs they say you are a dead ringer For that girl and her stylePerhaps the next big thing.
Maybe it will make you popular behind the micTelling jokes, slamming wordsWhatever you likeTo boost your lack of self worthBut that too involves talent
Picked on in school, now were you?Despite being tall and modelesqueThat was your fateYou never struggled with your weightThis too is your borrowed tale.
What about your blemished skin?Unless it was a blotchy disgraceAs you covered your faceBut you are as smooth as a baby’s bottomActually, you are an ass.
Rough neighborhood oh you did that too?I guess there were a thousand tales like itThen there was youRich friend let you borrow her addressAnd then gave you money like Pip in Great Expectations.
A life put together like a trash novelReady to sell for a dime on the shelfBorrowed stories from othersBecause it is too hard to be yourselfIn this mish mash called life.
A guy who chews you like gum because that’s all you areSpits you out like dollar store food because that is who you areOnce Coney Island White TrashAlways the member of the lower classAlways on the bottom of my boot like soot
And we all know it including your manDirtier and more useless than old cleaning socksStomp you into the litter boxAs you try to be like Robert FrostNow go die a borrowed death as he rolls in his grave.
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