Any Poets

Across the table I watch her move,
she lifts her hand just so.
Across her brow she sweeps soft fingers,
sensually slow.

My body copies her unconsciously,
and I notice the soft caress.
She smiles, at ease, not noticing
the start of my distress.

For I can feel it coming,
the forming of this tie.
Soon I will lose more of me,
as I copy even her blink of eye.

Her voice will come from my lips,
her walk will be mine too.
Her laugh will start to take mine over,
there is nothing I can do.

Such is the curse of a person like me,
a puppet, an empath, a clone.
I copy the lisps, the limps, the tics,
as they change me to my bone.

A little more lost every time,
I meet somebody new.
The strain is not only physical,
but my mind suffers too.

For who am I? What laugh is mine?
What walk? What sayings? What glee?
For if not grounded by one strong man,
would I be lost entirely?

Would I live my life in constant flux?
Would I twist to others whims?
Changing my speech, my moods, my lusts,
all of my mannerisms?

Do I have a core? My very own voice?
Does anyone copy me?
The tilt of my head, the move of my brow,
is there anything I do genuinely?

Such is the curse of a person like me,
a puppet, an empath, a clone.
To sit here and ask the ether,
if anything is hers alone.
I will come back and read it many times Karrie, it is beautiful.
I wouldn't know how to start a poem, besides, once upon a time, or
maybe a limeric.

There was a little girl named talloola
Who drove to the ocean blue,
Out on the water,
She saw with a start,
A large friend named baluga.

ha, it doesn't even rhyme, and I am laughing so hard, tears are flowing, I have
no pride, I will leave it for everyone to scorn. I can't even spell baluga, need
Thank you talloola. And poetry is one of those things that need not make sense to anyone but you. lol.
Doesn't matter how much you wiggle and dance
Three drops will always go down your pants

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