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.
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.
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
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.)
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...
My poems idealize your tongue on my tongue
your breath in mine,
these verses will romanticize how we skipped from street to street
our arms swinging between your left hip and my right
like I did not think about how my parents
never doubled their strength to pull me up above ground as
we walked through parking lots. I
needed to fly and no adult could let me but you.
The sudden hurt, I have not yet dramatized that morning
you returned my voicemail unsuspecting
unknowing my intention to whisper I hate you I hate you I hate you.
Every bone in my body had broken because we could not
levitate any longer: you were not even strong
enough to keep yourself grounded. I make you sound beautiful
I make you sound ugly, but neither is real, just as
how there are no words for the New Year ball dropping.
Don't tell me not to do drugs,
If you plan on becoming one.
"It will use up all of your time,
take all of your money,
leave you hanging when you need it most,
abandoning the destoyed masterpiece that you once were."
You told me,
"Be above the influence."
"You'll get addicted, stay away."
But what you didn't tell me was how addicting you were.
How did you expect me to "stay strong" against our 4 am phone calls,
when you'd tell me you loved me and all the things I was to become.
How was I supposed to "be above the influence" when you made a move,
running your cold, large hands up and down my shirt.
How did you have the nervous to say "you'll get addicted, stay away," when in the end I was addicted,
addicted to something you finally gave me,
something called love.
But according to you love is
overrated and highly dramatized,
but by the time I knew that you were my drug,
you had already wasted 2 years of my time,
spent all of my money,
hung me out to dry,
and abandoned me, leaving me a destroyed and unwanted
The acoustic guitar plays softly, in the background of a critiqued ball room as he made his entrance. The attention of the audience fell upon him; As he walked readily towards the dance floor, The melody of the flute and the rhythm of the bass guitar, Dramatized his beauty. The spectators in fear, but his passion so real, As I stared into his eyes, that made beauty felt unreal everything else that surrounded me disappeared. He focused his eyes on the dance floor they began to whisper; Who will he choose? Who has to leave now? He flashed his eyes upon the viewers that were once in shock, now in terror, but their facial expression in awe. The apothegm states that he continually seeks for the one that would heal his disease but bound to the power of the earth’s forces, his determined, stunning eyes will never be able to reveal, the secret one that can heal. The bass drums play wildly as he shows the crowd his fury. The once stunned viewers now begin to panic, but I draw myself closer. Before I could reach him someone else got in the way. “I would like to die” was the words I know her to repeatedly say. He gently pushed himself away in anger. He looked around the ball room, and observed the reaction of the audience to his response. They’re now in astonishment. He then stopped and his focal point was clear. The piano and the cello played softly to become one with his voice. He said to me “let us dance.” I’m frightened, the majority of the onlookers left in a daze. My vision weakened before our dance began. He smiled, and as he looked upon my face all the instruments faded away. He said to me is this your last dance? Will you leave us tonight? I’m the kiss of death will you close your eyes forever or will you leave me in delight?”