Copy Machine
our world is a mystery
a mystery that Sherlock Holmes’s cheeks turn the shade of blood shed in wars when it is mentioned
because he couldn't solve this case
this mystery is full of variables variables that have feelings
doesn't that make it so much harder?
variables that lie and cheat their way out of being solved
out of being put into a graph
variables that are like serial killers
they want to be caught
they want to be solved
they want to proudly show their mothers their work of art
variables that want to believe they are original
not copies
not copies that are smeared because the ink is running low
we want to believe that song lyrics are written for us and it is raining for us and these poems are written for us but we are wrong
we are not selfish.
these variables have a right to believe that these things
we have a right to hope to be noticed and to not be a copy
but when our voices join together and scream in harmony
“i am original”
it loses its meaning.
these variables are stubborn.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
