Long Alter ego Poems
Long Alter ego Poems. Below are the most popular long Alter ego by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Alter ego poems by poem length and keyword.
I hate the way you looked into my eyes.
I hate the way you rubbed my feet when we made love.
I hate how you smelled.
I hate that you were married.
I hate that you have children.
I hate that you held me in your arms like i was the only woman in the world.
I hate how you took me to fancy restaurants.
I hate how you opened my doors.
I hate how you watched me play the piano.
I hate how you touched me.
I hate how you kissed me.
I hate your secrets.
I hate your alter-ego.
I hate that you raped me.
I hate how you gaslight.
I hate how you told me you loved me.
I hate your wife.
I hate your status.
I hate the car you drive.
I hate how beautiful you were.
I hate your taste in music.
I hate your mind games.
I hate our connection.
I hate that you left me.
I hate myself.
I hate that we were soul mates.
I hate how I loved you.
I hate what you took from me.
I hate the world.
I hate the people in it.
I hate you reading this.
Together, side by side,
Shoulder to shoulder,
One destination, one path,
Sparkles in our eyes
Winds in our hairs
Two hearts beating as one,
We walked a synchronized walk
At even pace, at an even tempo
Smiles on our lips
Under a brilliant blue sky
with warm spring sunshine
carrying us aloft
on the wings of the breeze,
With love in our hearts
We were poised to soar high,
But then…
One of us went rogue,
became self-conceited,
cocky egomaniac and…
created God;
Fear made the other make the devil;
One created God in his own image,
In his own image the other made the Devil.
~05/08/23
~Contest: A Brian Strand Premiere #1215
I was a child, peering down,
down into my soul’s abyss,
a sterile kingdom by the Dead Sea.
She was also a child, my loveless alter ego
a glass jar not even half full.
Our love was too vacuous to harbor affection or hope.
My alter ego, Lissa Marie.
She was a child, peering upward, upward,
delving more deeply into my spirit’s stunted reach.
The proverbial babe in the woods was she,
harboring the dour rude awakenings
of the great prophets and sages.
She stirred in me all that is sacred,
and inspired and true.
Yet her flame diminished
into smoldering embers—no Phoenix rising.
She departed as she entered, a demure lady.
She came to me as lady light,
departed as lady death.
I shall retain my love for her, my
alter ego, 'til my last breath
Our souls entwined
Yet the angels show their jealously
So divine was she, coequal.
Her essence upon me,
love worn weary,
I’ve become one
with Lissa Marie.
LIES
You promise the sun, the sky and the moon
You promise to be there for me very soon
You said I was your only lover
You said after me there is no other
And days I waited to feel for tender touch
Through my kitchen window with my keen eyes as I watch
Across the meadows and woods through the valley
You are my best friend, alter ego and alley
Tall, young man with the dark and curly hair
And his arms where strong like a big brown bear
Told me what I wanted to hear
As we sat on papa’s little chair
The fine words burns me up like the fire
I never knew he was such a liar
But you never match your words with your action
I was sweep away by the winds of passion
Said you will take me to the banquet to see the queen
You said the girl next to you was your twin
And any time I ask where you have been
You said you went to school to see the dean
Lies are big and lies are small
Some lies are short and some lies are tall
Lies are like mirages that a traveler sees
Lies I all you want them to be
Some lies are deadly
And you can lose good friends
Even lovers who vowed to stay to the very end
Some lies are ridiculous as you can see
Some lies are like books of mystery
By Olusegun Akanbi
"What I believed, however, will never be null
The poems I composed, the songs I sang
Sustain me in an ethereal, spiritual alter-ego
I shall continue to influence the world I knew"
L Milton Hankins
In his time here at Poetry Soup
Milt showed his prolific writing skills
He let his voice be heard in this group
and his impact echoes still
He was a resident of the fabled town of Soup Creek*
Of which many a story has been told
He stood up to bullies and made them look weak
In contests Milt would often get the gold
As he journeys on to an eternal sunset
To hear the hymns of a heavenly choir
He will be remembered on this site
and his poems will continue to inspire
1-5-2023
In Honor Of Milt - An Un-Contest Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
*To honor Milt's memory Mayor Tom has renamed the town "Milton Creek"
There are times I speak my mind
others, I’m better off alone
This treachery of confidence
Sneaks up and slices my neck,
Leaving the words forced to stay in my throat
I wish I could enlighten those around me
I wish I could make sense
But no matter how many times I try-
I have anxiety as a best friend.
I never realized the significance before
And now it’s all I see
Consumed by the power of my alter ego-
And my happiness spirals spontaneously
One minute I’m okay, the next a mindful mess
I’ll never know who’s right,
My inner voice or my ego
A relentless battle nonetheless-
One I’ve no choice but to face
Patiently waiting for this battle to end
But who am I trying to pretend?
Why is my face split in two?
A twin I call her
Confident and beautiful
Funny and entertaining
Her smiles light up every room.
A life of the party
Excellent in every word.
A frown I like to wear
I leave the smiles to her
It suits just one of us.
I think I'm not that pretty
The face we share says different
And even when people tell me
I think they speak of her.
I hate when people see me
They want me to be her
They expect charm and charisma
And then my jokes fall flat.
I'm in my head a lot
Thinking how to become her.
Never together we are
Always one at every time.
I cannot talk about her
And she herself can't too
Cause then people would notice
She's one and I'm the same.
A person I created
To make myself feel safe
But then she turned out
Better than I ever was.
But only in her shadows
I find the solace I seek.
And I hope that maybe someday
She's all that I'll become.
Mona Lisa's Reflection Speaks To Me
Leonardo's painting of the enigmatic Mona Lisa
took place in the fifteenth century near Pisa.
His oil painting of the model has evoked the mystery
of her and the artist, making it the most popular in history.
In the painting, the sitter is cloaked in a pleated brown gown,
sans eyebrows and lashes, common during that time, and a frown.
Or is that a smile? One thing about the artist is his use of the technique
of squaring the lips and eyes, creating the background, illusionist he speaks
Today she sits in Louvre Museum, forever immortalized, by visitors,
in the inquiry of curiosity as to whether she is smiling or taking prisoners.
In the history of art, no other person has been the recipient of such fanfare,
being the most talked about, visited, parodied, sung person, posing in a chair.
As I explore Leonardo's painting, I see his imaginary tears raining down,
so visceral, as he is turning in his grave realizing Mona stole his thunder.
I also hear lightning, his anger, like who made you the star of the show,
Mona, my dear, if it was not for I squaring those lips you would have no glow.
In that half smile, I see my alter ego coming into play, rising to the surface,
for even I sit lukewarmly, half-committed in life, with a half and half purpose.
Leonardo was brilliant for he brings forth a painting that brings people nearer,
.... of seeing themselves in a mirror.
connie pachecho
1/19/17
To compensate for (A -Z)
ineradicable alphanumeric
character flaws (i.e. mutations
of body or mind,)
and avoid amass
sing wracking up vexatiously
undesirable threatening class
action lawsuit against
Matthew Scott Harris,
which preliminary measure
taken to avoid disembarrass
sing said individual as
a majorly flawed individual
literal shortcomings of body,
mind and spirit,
the metier of writing doth encompass
a creative realm to trump
geomorphology, sans groundmass
at the unsolicited expense
(mine alter ego i.e. worst critic)
will gleefully find,
and expose grammatical,
misspelling, spelling,
et cetera errors to harass
glommed together with isinglass
hop, skip and jumping
to appear as a jackass
whereat no respect
able collegiate lass
would give a fig about me,
one totally tubular royal morass,
which expert anthropologists
stumped asper nonclass
if eye able Homo
sapiens mutant ninja turtle
case in point being his
wanting in height not e'en pass
sing the six foot mark
plus mental illness
perhaps traceable to
besotted cognitive damage
inherited predecessors
quaffing an overdose of quass
made obvious peering at resulting
Ct scan results viewed
via microscopic spyglass
revealing abnormal amygdala
automatically designating
his aptitude underclass
among average human
with mettlesome Zeusian brass.
(Revelation 22:15)
Outside are the dogs, those who practice magic arts, the sexually immoral,
The murderers, the idolaters and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.
I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you this testimony for the churches.
I am the Root and the Offspring of David, and the bright Morning Star.
"I read these verses, and my heart grows desperately earnest."
Lord, please let my runaway cat return safely to me.
Even if she wants to come back, the world outside is a minefield;
She dares not take a step.
My cat, who was like my own alter ego,
Now cowers in fear before another cat—her niece-like kin whom she once gave sweet milk.
Chased away frantically, she vanishes into the shroud of darkness.
Lord, I pray to You with all my broken heart,
Let my cat, who has been missing for three months, come back to me!
And the Lord, at last, heard my weeping voice,
And briefly sent that sweet cat back to my arms.
Exhausted, worn out, she crawled back to me,
Finding her way to the secretive, weathered kitchen window.
As I fed her in frantic haste, I whispered:
"Hurry, eat up. They might catch your scent and attack you."
And so, I frantically smoke my familiar Dunhill cigarettes.
For filling the air with my own scent is the only way left
To shield you and hide your tracks.
"Hurry, please!"
With my tear-stained window, I finally closed the view
Of those eyes that gazed back at me endlessly.
That beautiful history of yours
Will now never return again.
History?
No, it is Herstory.
It must be rewritten that way.
Even today, I open that kitchen window,
Waiting for my alter ego.
"I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last,
The Beginning and the End."
A season passes,
The door opens and closes,
And though I desperately exhale my cigarette smoke into the air,
She never returns.
That cat was a cat of quantum mechanics.
When I open my eyes, she is nowhere to be seen,
But the moment I close my eyes, she truly exists.