Inhuman Enid, the Imitating

This is one of my most visited posts. Here's to my stalkers, who cannot understand due to their narcissism that I never waste my time looking into their lives. Hard for you to believe, isn't it?

Introduction...

Opemetry deluges into your brain,
A white-wash second of flooding runs through after it,
Erasing everything,
That could have been important,
Though not so much as a good memory might have been.

T'is memory that serves us,
And memory is a thing we find ourselves in service to.

Damn our memories,
Love our memories,
Even when they torture us with our own hatred,
Even when they sooth us with recollections of comfort,
Or bliss,
We cannot fake being inhuman,
As you are acting inhuman, you know that?
But we forgot to stop pointing fingers,
When our mother's taught that hatred lingers,
Even when we think ourselves most loving.

To Inhuman Enid, the Imitator:

Let me make something clear,
Just so you aren't mistaken,
Dear Enid,
You are a thief of opemetry,
For when paraphrasing, line by line..
You rise, you rise, you rise,  
You rise?
(And admit it, that was not the only time...) 
Something like my own words, in disguise,
Which you began to use so long ago,
Cannot give credit, where it's due,
Having sunk so low,
I can most safely say,
Most of her words were her own,
Blasé rhymes,
But a few were also pilfered,
From someone she knew during that time,
Though she insisted that she rose,
The other merely dirt under her feet,
Having fell,
We can see it in her eyes,
That she is living in a Hell,
Of ego-thrusting,
Gossipers may bring their own demise,
Ingratitude is its own punishment at times,
She was always bent, you see,
On one-upping me,
Though as Enid says,
Imitation is just flattery,
Admit that violet flame was not a vision,
That you first conceived,
Once again, you ripped it off,
But imitation is just flattery;
The truth does not belong to you,
Know it "belongs" to Iris E.,
You cannot own the truth,
It is engrained,
A part of the mosaic,
In the Akashaic,
I sleep tight to comprehend,
My own place between Dark, and Light,
I take my comfort in the absolute,
Your treatment of me is not right. 

Remember,
Don't ever forget,
That I will always be the flaw in this World,
In your head,
Nearly more than war, or hunger, or poverty,
You cannot forgive,
And so, your Heart will not be rid of me,
I am worse to you than real evils,
For you are hypo-critically,
Wilting, and destructive,
In your own insanity,
No matter how you think you will read faces,
Of your friends, and enemies,
Looking for betrayal,
For falsity,
If you must,
The Worth of Ducks,
Denies New Fields,
When they are lacking trust,
I am quite sure,
They are immaculately in love,
But perhaps she's not so positive...
Perhaps she'll push, and shove it away,
With that hateful insincerity.

What I give with my talents,
Is also worth something,
Tell me, what of Balance?
Won't succumb to some disparaging,
To claim know-how to teach forgiveness,
May be a benefit to some,
But she does not know its meaning,
And cannot realize the gleaming,
In the Eyes of Redemption,
When you insist,
On being the only one,
It's plain,
All that you seem to want,
Is others suckling your thumb,
For now, and forever,
You won't be the only one to wear the mantle,
Of the flower given unto me,
You were the other,
Now just pretender,
Never the real thing,
For you are not the first,
And you have been the worst,
So cry your dark blue tears,
Villainess,
It's for the best. 


- Iris E.