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Francis Serra Nov 2018
Filmmaking should be an art form, not merely a business.

The creative process should be personal, not impersonal.

Filmmaking should be sentimental, not political.

Performances should be natural, not robotic. They should be authentic, not artificial.

Writing should be truthful, not bogus.

Cinematography should be ambitious, not pretentious.

Premieres should be on a big screen, not a flat screen.

The audience should open up their preferences, not solidify them. They should respect traditions, not belittle them.

Profit should be a reward for hard work, not a motive for it.

Filmmaking should be intoxicating, not grueling.

Credit should be a right, not a luxury.

Ownership should be divided, not bombarded.

Final cuts should be final, not temporary.

The industry should be welcoming, not selective. It should be open, not gated.

Investors should require trust, not demand control.

We should treasure movies, not forget them over time.

Artists should be publicized, not exploited. They should be grateful, not prissy.

Celluloid should be valued, not endangered.

Equipment should last, not outdate within a year.

In a country full of opportunities, why is it so difficult to achieve what you want? Better yet, if you work hard enough, why could you still fail?
This is what I wanna do.
Francis Serra Oct 2018
Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

No, I’m pretty sure Violets are violet.

That poem is a lie.

Just like my love for you.
Satire is fun in poetry sometimes. It doesn’t always have to be grim.
Francis Serra Sep 2018
I fear that I’ll lose you,
Even though I want you gone.

I want you to stay,
Yet I often contemplate running away.

Does that make me... inhumane?

Have you driven me insane?
Or is that my head talking?
You’re the one who got me walking,
Now, here I am doing all of this balking.

We’re facing a scare, scarier than painless death.
We’re facing your suffering, promoting your very last breath.

I want you to leave me be,
But not to die prematurely.
Please don’t leave me,
I’m too young to bury,
The one thing that created me.
My Mother is facing the possibility of cervical cancer. I am petrified.
Francis Serra Sep 2018
What do people see,
What do people see,
When they see me,
What do they see?

Am I absolutely,
Positively,
Worthy,
Of glory?
Am I smart,
Bright,
Sweet,
And funny?

Am I big,
Round,
Short,
Or tall?
Do I push them away,
Or attract them all?

Do I make them smile,
Or appear to be small?
Do they even notice me,
Just a small amount at all?

Week days come,
Weekends go,
I’ll never be as perfect as I hoped so,
‘Cuz I assume they see greed,
When looking at me,
When all they see,
Is what’s outside of me.
Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Francis Serra Jul 2018
Nice Guys,
they finish Last.
They make it by,
the skin of their ***.
The woman don’t,
appreciate class.
They expect ‘em all,
to have ***** of brass.
Quack Quack.
Francis Serra Jul 2018
Lights in the Sky,
Lights in the Sky,
How many have died,
For these lights in the Sky?

A web of familiar photos,
Flashing before my eye,
A bundle of lights are flashing,
Flashing throughout the sky.

Noisy lights bashing,
Crashing through my eye,
These lights aren’t dashing,
Their sadness is masking,
while mashing up the sky.

Today, like many others,
We seek lights flashing in our eye,
To remind us of our strength,
Yet strength is hard to come by.

Unity and tranquility,
Yankee Doodle, do or die,
So keep igniting these lights,
As they dance throughout the sky,
As my eye sheds another tear,
on this wonderful night in July.
What does this mean to you?
Francis Serra May 2018
Look! I can spell my name:

FRAID
REMORSEFUL
ATYPICAL
NEUROTIC
CAREFUL
IRREGULAR
SMALL
I am proud to say that my name has meaning to me.
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