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 artist

Who owns a cat

One has a litterbox

Sincere it it’s feline exploits

The other insincere

Not real, pure fiction

Science fiction

An experiment gone wrong

A sad, long funeral song

To an identity she never had

And now wantonly steals

First a blonde

Now a red head

Whatever gets you in bed

With the phony man

Who 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 sale

With the angst you claim you have

With your made up backstory sans publicist?

What is this, the bipolar mother?

The lazy genius father?

Not true, why bother

To clear up the inconsistencies

In your story?

My family insanity you whine

As you down it with another glass of wine

Maybe you will drink yourself into obscurity

Because it takes talent to write poetry

Something you don’t have

You pray it will make you a popular writer

You hope it will make you a popular singer

As they say you are a dead ringer

For that girl and her style

Perhaps the next big thing.

Maybe it will make you popular behind the mic

Telling jokes, slamming words

Whatever you like

To boost your lack of self worth

But that too involves talent

Picked on in school, now were you?

Despite being tall and modelesque

That was your fate

You never struggled with your weight

This too is your borrowed tale.

What about your blemished skin?

Unless it was a blotchy disgrace

As you covered your face

But you are as smooth as a baby’s bottom

Actually, you are an ass.

Rough neighborhood oh you did that too?

I guess there were a thousand tales like it

Then there was you

Rich friend let you borrow her address

And then gave you money like Pip in Great Expectations.

A life put together like a trash novel

Ready to sell for a dime on the shelf

Borrowed stories from others

Because it is too hard to be yourself

In this mish mash called life.

A guy who chews you like gum because that’s all you are

Spits you out like dollar store food because that is who you are

Once Coney Island White Trash

Always the member of the lower class

Always on the bottom of my boot like soot

And we all know it including your man

Dirtier and more useless than old cleaning socks

Stomp you into the litter box

As you try to be like Robert Frost

Now go die a borrowed death as he rolls in his grave.