Love, it's isn't like the movies.
And nothing like a Disney's cartoon.
Yes, you might find your Prince Charming.
And your Cinderella too.
Just realize, love isn't like the movies.
Or like one of those old religious drama.
Where the King visualized his Queen?
Or anything shown like the royals dramatized dreams.
Once reality kicks in and you adjust.
Then you come to the realization.
Love only works when you put your hard work effort into it.
You'll have disagreements.
You'll have arguments too.
Just remember, love isn't like the movies.
And it shouldn't be.
When it comes to you.
We blink quickly,
so that we miss nothing,
we compact an entire lifetime within an allotted time of two hours and a small two minute window for creditentials that acknowledge 1,326 people,
not including "special thanks,"
we indulge on the dramatized events that may or may not have happened, We thrive on sports that televise a group of ten to twenty-two grown men that run fast jump quickly, and
but that is the pursuit of thrills
I am never not surprised,
when someone else has the courage to look me in my eyes,
to tell me bald-faced lies,
that say I am too dramatized
as a white girl trying to equalize
and see the world before me rise
to say we're not satisfied
to say with honesty we despise
a government who seems to tyrannize
its citizens into fearing they be deprived
of food, water, and electricity. So they have to believe in the guise.
That we are a nation paralyzed.
I am just a twenty two year old, Caucasian female
addicted to the idea I can help you see we will prevail.
Our nation teeters on the brink.
Help me save our souls,
Before they take us out like MLK, Lennon, JFK
All with a blink.
I am a dramatized china doll,
but I never rouge my knees.
The MC introduces me as Scarlett.
Lulu embraces me as we saunter
off the platform. Whistles follow my footsteps
digging into my brain, fermenting,
to strong wine.
Gentlemen enter the club to leer
at cabaret girls dancing in lace.
Some are drawn to the boys of the club,
the ones in the dark corners with kohl-rimmed
eyes and eager kisses.
From their seats in the dimness, the audience
fails to notice rips in my blouse, cigarette
butts smudged out in the wings. No one
sees the dirty face powder spread out
among the lighted mirrors, overused,
my own makeup dried out.
Their giggles and applause keep
the club alive, filled with dead
grins from dinner to dawn.
Drum roll—my turn.
We rid them of their troubles.
gloomy girl. pretty.
seated at low table
someone comments. she replies.
take a few steps forward)
"i bet i can make you smile"
"i bet you a kiss on the cheek, right here, right now, i can make you smile-
here slap me-"
"go ahead, slap me, right here in the face- right on the cheek."
"i'm not going to slap you!"
"why not? you're just gonna kiss it and make it better anyways."
(pause. raise eyebrows. crooked smile.)
(she smiles. tries to hide it with her hands. head down. giggling.)
(kiss her on the cheek quickly and purposefully. get up swiftly in an over dramatized acrobatic display. dart away.)
The sunny day of January invited the sun's radiation that burns skin as fire could burn through paper.
Perhaps that was why everything we planned was a heat-up and dramatic hope.
Perhaps like the partly burned coal, our hope too burns itself to the emptiest cinders of all.
The hopeful plan we once had was dramatized to create illusions of the fantasy we'd like to live in, but a reality that we could not create because the reality is, we are nothing but the matter of expired fire.
We are the ashes of what we left behind.
We may have stopped giving off flames, but we still have some combustible matter in us; and soon, what follows is, for the better - an explosion, or for the worst - an implosion.
Strangers to the touch:
he was fast to dive into
the waves that were
his briny deep.
She, whom took
his complexion into
the trench that is her,
also took the senile
artistry that was he,
Strangers to the act:
he took the palm
of his over-dramatized
antagonist of his own
life and just
She caressed the
thought of it,
yet still arose
to find her most
grazing his head
adolescent but corrupt
land line that made up
as her thighs.
Strangers they must be,
found need in
the halves that have
halves in half.
Iguana of diamonds,
Sand sea and sun,
Little children in sight,
Attractions of light,
Natives of love,
Decorative cities, what night.
Island’s of the Bahamas beauty as can be,
What more fun than playing with dolphins in the sea.
Creative costumes, dancers so bright,
The music dramatized, Feel the rush it’s a site.
Nothing more beautiful than the island themselves,
Well except the people willing to give help.
Pineapples, peas and rice, pink sand, flamingoes, and some conch salad,
Not forgetting the “KALIK,” cause’ “IT’S A BAHAMIAN TING”.
Blue, Black and Aquamarine, was just described to you,
All in the Islands Love.
Come and enjoy the exciting experience too!
My Bahama Land!
Trying something new...