"boutiques" poems
There is a certain mystique about Essex County where Wiccan boutiques smite the eyes with linguistic confusion.
Salaam reminds me of cold meat and Shalom reminds me of Welsh breakfasts even though the 1700s knew nothing of peace.
So, now that we almost reach the threshold of Spring Aequus Nox, I commend Julius Caesar for his respect towards atmospheric refraction.
We need to talk.
Come on, and let us delve into classical and mythological philosophies where games of death are an aphrodisiac with a sprinkling of risqué.
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
Our generation constantly seeks,
To find the meaning of unique,
We spend our time browsing boutiques,
Or turning our self into a freak.
We all end up looking the same,
Don’t you think that is a little lame?
Perhaps we should delve a little deeper,
Let us take a peek at what’s on the inside,
Intrigue others with what isn’t cheaper,
In fact, let’s take this nationwide!
Just like that good ol’ celery stick,
What colour you turn is up to you to pick!
What we put inside is what comes out,
Do you want to reflect what is around you,
Or whip together your very own image without,
Soaking up someone else’s goo?
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 11:22 PM UTC
They say it's not safe to walk around here
You'll see women standing on street corners
Few drunk mortals and usual dealers
Still, it has a unique flair that's sincere.
Interesting folks spotted at cafes
Nights and on weekends, the scene is alive
Best galleries in town, boutiques survive
A form of art, nothing close to cliches.
The kind of place that gives someone a fright
A misconception for some who can't stand
The riveting darker side of their mind;
It's here geniuses like Baudelaire saw light.
There is something alluring about them
Those society scorn, the marginalized.
Judgmental souls persist; not so surprised
When below the surface waits a poem.
The people here have no care in the world.
Whether it's where they work or their hangout
Here, free spirits do not need to stand out
They think lightly and none shall be bothered.
They say it's not safe to walk around here
It's the truth, one must be a bit careful
But this area, genuinely soulful;
Rather here, red light district I revere.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 4:53 PM UTC
*Reflections of Paris this morning , for all the inhabitants of the world , especially those inspired by beautiful works of art and architecture ! Those fortunate enough to have dined in world class eateries on cuisine prepared by Master Chefs , marveled over the downtown skyline high atop prominent monuments ! Impassioned lovers perusing her avenues , window shopping store fronts , boutiques along famous boulevards ! Senior couples recalling their yesteryears with great joy , frolicking , happy children playing in parklands , feeding songbirds with euphoria and curiosity , strolling walkways along the riverbank at Dusk with great wonderment and personal reflection
The poet and poetess , musician and thespian , ballet dancer and street performer .. To lovers young and old , the continued hope of gaiety and splendor at every turn !
She is lovely indeed , the Queen of all that is beautiful on this Earth* ..
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
the unattainable girl in cotton dress with her untouched hands
her perfections body and soul are store purchased at trending boutiques
she illustrates the room into vivid colour with her casual presence
she becomes the motion in the still life drawing you live
she is the utterance of everything to be attained by dreaming
by hope
for you
the unattainable
she leads you through the broken gate
a backyard overgrown and
past the rusting skeleton of a child's swing set
night has rendered it life
and it looms large in the minds eye with terrible
wrath for its cheated years
inside the bare room
streetlight filtered by the boarded up window
sound is muffled in here
her voice strangely stagnant and heavy
as she clumsily removes her shirt
laughing a small embarrassed laugh
so unlike her cool and convincing hardcase appearance
the two of you rest a few hours cupped in eachothers arms
till daylight leeches your sleepyheads of dreams
but the tattered cover of your romance novel
is by no means a feat of strung out fairy's on a mission to condemn
they only want recompense for the time they spent wrapped in the
soiled leather sheets entertaining some middle aged naked man
and his sole desire to be pretty
she sees all this
she sits in the dry corner
eyes wide but unseeing
a song of terrors paused on her lips
the reality's of reality has not yet sunk in
but its soft spoken voice is whispering to her now
it sets its christmas card well wishes on her mantle
it lays its warm gifts on her bed
careworn toys of her bitter embraces
sit in the grey snow abandoned like her lovers
now that she found her nirvana
she will spend her days
in hard red leather and fishnet
plying the flesh pots and the mystery's exposed of naughty naughty
the unattainable girl is just a photograph now
one dimensional image of a four dimensional demon girl
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 10:41 PM UTC
it was the
summer
of 13
when a city
consumed in a
Cronut crazed
heat wave
amped
the tenderloin
slicing the underbelly
of Hell's Kitchen
packing meat for
Russian oligarchs
pouring fistfuls
of petrol rubles
down the
thirsty gullets
of glutinous
developers
their distended
bellies welling
with aching
avarice
from an
extended
stay at an
All You Can Eat
zero interest
smorgasbord
courtesy of
Uncle Sam’s Diner
somewhere off the
West End
getting fat
on the land
reclaimed
and rebuilt
on the dust
and detritus
of an expired
Great Society
Bloomie's metropolis
rising on the rubble
of razed neighborhoods....
the vertical leaps
shooting ever upward
the heady windows
framing portraits
of endless replication
offering the amenities
of the vain comfort
found in ghettos of
soulless high rises
and the billowing
gray perspective
of blanched out
street cafes
brewing $9 lattes
and big box
boutiques busy
busking the
latest rage
of sweat repelling
yoga mats and
wearable apps
America’s Mayor
Giuliani paved the way
he arrested all
the squeegee men
confiscated their Windex
dumped it down
the sewers and filled all
vacancies at Rikers
a year after Sandy
rolled up the Hudson
breaching the banks
of West Street
licking the streets
clean of urban
flotsam the
surging boom
bloomed
Bloomie bankrolled
a red carpet
for his global
fraternity of
plutocrats
unleashing a
tsunami of
shekels
washing away
the fading
memories of
Captain Sully’s
cool headed
lunch pail
heroism proving
that 727’s can
walk on water
was now passe
Lou Reed
left town
the wild side
monetized by
the belching
banality of
Urban Hipsters
millennial
babes in toy land
embarked on an endless
shopping spree
where credit limits
never expire and
giddy narcissism
greased with entitlement
orders up room service
as the next course
in this endless
movable feast
Music Selection
Philip Glass
The Hours
9/8/13
NYC
jbm
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
Andrew Gn
Probably the most prolific Singaporean designer, Gn graduated from the renowned Saint Martins School of Art and Design in London and the Domus Academy in Milan before joining Emanuel Ungaro in 1992. He launched his namesake label in 1996, establishing a fan base among the Parisian high society and A-list celebrities such as Jessica de Rothschild and Sarah Jessica Parker for his luxurious fabrics and exquisite embellishments. Gn was awarded the President’s Design Award in 2007 and is stocked in all the major continents, with his atelier based in the Le Marais district in Paris.
Ashley Isham
The other Singaporean high fashion designer to hit big time in the international circuit, Isham established his namesake label in London in 2000, and is a show fixture at London Fashion Week. The label is known for its sharp, contemporary tailoring and high-octane glamour, and is a hit among film, TV and music stars as well as British royalty.
Aijek
Self-taught designer Danelle Woo creates easy-breezy, ultra-feminine pieces in sustainable fabrics. Aijek is stocked at multi-label boutiques in China, Hong Kong, Malaysia, Indonesia, Latin America, the Middle East and the United States.
Depression
The neo-Gothic ready-to-wear label’s stark, minimalist designs are stocked in Hong Kong, Belgium, Japan and the U.S., and counts celebrities like Adam Lambert and The Black-Eyed Peas as fans.
Sabrina Goh
The feted Singaporean designer stocks her easy-to-wear pieces from her namesake label at multi-label boutiques in the United States, the Fred Segal store in Japan and a London-based online store Not Just A Label.
Max Tan
The avant-garde label features experimental silhouettes and a contemporary artistic flair, and is stocked in Europe, the Middle East, San Francisco and Taiwan.
Benjamin Barker
This stylish menswear brand founded by designer Nelson Yap in 2009 now has two stores in Melbourne and offers custom tailoring as well. It also offers shipping to Australia and New Zealand via its website BenjaminBarker.co. .
In Good Company
The well-loved minimalist label with unusual silhouettes fronted by designers Sven Tan and Kane Tan is stocked in Hong Kong at Kapok, at various departmental stores in Jakarta, Indonesia, including Sogo, Seibu and Galleries Lafayette Jakarta and in New York’s Saks Fifth Avenue.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 12:23 AM UTC
Let me tell you what I want….
I want to read Somerset Maugham and Aldous Huxley and Leonard Cohen and Mary Oliver
I want to hike bits of the Appalachian Trail and take long walks in the hills around Snowdonia
I want to ride about in the DC Metro and the London Underground
I want to explore small towns and big cities
I want to eat lunch in quaint little bistros and have dinner at the table in my yard
I want to browse through antique stores and fancy boutiques
I want to play with dogs and rub their bellies
I want to take long drives without a destination in mind
I want to waste an entire Sunday at home talking about everything and doing nothing
I want to build a fire and watch a movie
I want to sit on the couch and sip tea
Most of all, I want to do these things with you
Don't let your addiction take this away
With all the bits of my heart….
Sep 25, 2013
Sep 25, 2013 at 9:12 PM UTC
Thèmes
Choix d'un thème pour un album ou une carte vous aidera à affiner votre choix de materials.Who est le public visé? Est la carte ou un album lié à une fête ou un événement important? S'il n'y a pas une personne en particulier ou un événement associé au projet, l'adoption d'une couleur ou un motif régime prévoit unité et balance.Examples de thèmes populaires incluent: vacances, bébé premier, anniversaires, obtention du diplôme, animaux, années scolaires, les anniversaires, les mariages, roman, prix, favoris (cadeaux, livres, films, émissions de télévision, des jouets ou des modes), le
jardinage, les vacances, les partis, les sports, souvenirs et mementos.After choisissant une conception unifiée, trouver des documents qui illustrent votre message. Matériaux
Les matériaux les plus indispensables sont cartonné, papier, colle, outils, stylos, et des embellissements de coupe ou photos.Cardstock robe soirè peuvent être achetés individuellement ou en packs de valeur; packs de valeur sont utiles si vous créez plusieurs albums et cards.Cardstock et du papier ordinaire est disponible dans des couleurs unies ou du papier patterns.Patterned peut être utilisé comme arrière-plans, des bordures, ou du papier de coupe embellishments.When, sauver les restes pour des projets ultérieurs, vous pouvez embellir d'autres projets ou utiliser de plus grandes chutes en photo mounts.For une aspect texturé, papier de déformation;. carton est plus facile de se froisser si vous appliquez quelques gouttes d'eau adhésif, des outils et des stylos coupe sont très variées. Les types de base comprennent liquide et le bâton de colle, du ruban, des ciseaux, tondeuses, des marqueurs et des albums de pens.For de pigments, toujours utiliser des matériaux sans acide qui ne traverse pas le pages.To créer bords bordée sur les pages de scrapbook ou des cartes, utiliser des ciseaux spéciaux, comme puncheurs. ondulées et de la vallée de pointe, ou en forme embellissements
améliorent le thème choisi albums et cards.Cutouts, des autocollants, des rubans, papyrus, vélin, les timbres et les citations sont des choix populaires, citations peuvent être employées par achetées quote-livres, manuscrites ou tenue mere de la mariee imprimées à partir d'un ordinateur Photos personnaliser n'importe quel projet de robe soirè métier;. ils peuvent être imprimés à la maison, ou développés par des boutiques et drugstores.Photos d'impression en ligne sont généralement organisés par ordre chronologique, en collages ou categorically.Categories incluent, mais ne sont pas limités à: des événements, des activités, des familles, des couleurs, des particuliers ou actions.Although ce sont des techniques de mise en forme les plus populaires, vous devriez Étalez vos photos seront cependant mieux s'adapter au thème de l'album ou carte.
http://www.modedomicile.com/robe-de-soir%C3%A9e-c-5
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 11:17 PM UTC
Money wants to be spent.
It sits in your pocket and bellows at you,
it tugs you into shops and boutiques
and weighs so heavy on your mind
that you gasp with relief
to be rid of it.
I don't like this, but I get it:
I accept the hypnosis
and resist when I can,
and perhaps it oils the system
which keeps me comfortable.
But I am fearful that our feel for time
is going the same way.
Hours are things to dispose of:
days, once spent, are lost and gone:
all our energies ****** us on
to the next thing, and the next.
There is no sense
of accumulation,
no glorying in the growth
of knowledge, experience, wisdom.
No respect for things which have been
and thus we shuttle, rudderless and dumb,
Barren, and infinitely poor.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 6:30 AM UTC
Ripe, bitter, sour and oh so sweet.
Dangling off of a Californian tree.
Living within peels so stringent and
containing cascading juices so pungent.
He leaves you wanting, aching to know more.
He lures you in with the irresistible sweetest of enchanting
songs and ballads.
But what you didn't know was, that the ending
melody left you in a note that made you feel as though
you were drowning in a sea of rotten,
forgotten, and lost once loved dreams.
You became addicted to his freshness,
to the zest of his scent.
You became seduced, captivated even.
You let yourself become vulnerable
and susceptible to his touch.
You slowly opened up your wounds.
You let your friable bandages flow free.
You even let him lead the grand dance.
You let him twirl and spin you to the point
of reaching a state of trance or reverie.
He took you on romantic evening picnics,
he brought you to the oldest of antique boutiques,
and he even painted you angelic
mosaics in oil.
Ones comparable to those grandiose and imposing
works' of the masters.
At last he casted you under his spell
and he enticed you once again.
He had the charm of a thousand
and he was spontaneous in all his ways.
He never failed to surprise you.
They say he had an oriental descent
and this would explain much.
But when you least expected it,
he touched your wounds.
You felt an unbearable pain,
and a strange surge flow through you.
It burned, to say the least.
You almost felt your incisions
blister under the effect of his acid.
His yellow and aureolin tint
seemed only to be a facade.
An illusion, a charade to the naked eye.
But in that moment you could see through it.
You looked at him with pain-struck eyes,
full of confusion and disappointment.
You couldn't really identify the look in his.
You realized that he really had nothing to do
with his cadmium yellowish golden tint.
You felt as though you were fainting.
You were sinking and all the sweet
memories you two shared, flooded your
sight.
But then he said, "look at your wounds"
and you did as he ordered.
You looked down and shook off the stupor
and came back to.
You looked at your wounds and
became staggered and managed a mere "thank you".
For your wounds were no longer swollen and irritated.
He had healed you.
So when life hands you lemons,
don't make lemonade.
No, instead care for those
misunderstood beings,
and tend to their needs.
Because the lemons in our lives
are all too prevalent and far too
misread.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
They should still be singing stories, babe
about the fun we had.
Yeah, from the top of The Leg'--
throw an arm around your Golden Boy
dance them feet across the copper.
If those songs could take us back, I swear that I
would live out my days
inside of those strains
I'd keep my word this time.
and I
would arc across that place with you--
off The Leg' through Osborne Village,
through boutiques and record stores and maybe they
would hear us laughing at The Toad in the Hole.
Or we'd speed north, past Kildonan Park
'til they could hear us out in Lockport.
Hear us shout at Dubuc & Des Meurons
while they're waiting on their bus
to cut the frosty dusk with condensed exhaust
we could laugh right in their face.
I'd live inside those strains.
If they were singing about us from the top of The Leg'
we'd stream across St. Boniface Cathedral
and some young someones
running through hip deep snow in the cold
would pause and hear us.
We'd stir their soupy breath in the night,
sifting through our history.
If they forgot the words, it wouldn't matter.
Our verses: soft breathing, our choruses: laughter.
the sound of us moving through Exchange District taverns.
I want for them to start singing us songs
and I want a pint with you at The Yellow Dog.
No more 4 years of regrets and no more sad talk.
Just you and just me and maybe a walk through the city.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
It is the twisted teal torrents of water
That gush through its heart.
It is the paint on the walls
And the Ancient museums full of art.
It’s the beauty of the city center
The shops and the boutiques.
It’s the bells of the green trams,
Winding down the cobblestone streets.
It’s the wind on my back
And the sun on my face
It’s the way when I go out,
Hours are lost without a trace
It’s the people floating down the river
In the heat of the year.
It’s my feeling of security,
Because here there’s nothing to fear.
It’s all the unique traditions,
Passed down from generations.
It’s the faces of the people,
One from every nation.
It’s the feeling I get
When I just walk around.
When I take in what’s around me
The sights and the sounds.
It’s the knowledge that
In this city I have grown.
It’s all the things I’ve learned,
That I may never have known.
It’s when I sit still in my room,
And know that there’s so much left to explore.
It’s the opportunities I have
To do things I’ve never done before.
It’s the archaic beige bridge
That stands down town.
It’s that path we like to walk,
Or that cute cafe we found.
It’s those beautiful books I bought,
The ones I know I’ll never read.
It’s the happiness that comes
With the quiet life I lead.
It’s how much more there is to discover,
So much beauty I’ve yet to see.
It’s that feeling of contentment
When you know you’re where you’re meant to be
The more I learn about this city,
The more my heart desires to stay
And know I may be wrong,
But I think this could be home someday.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
Body twisted on the sidewalk at mid-day
some pass by without noticing
A woman stops in stride and looks down at him, phone in hand
Her sundress swaying with the
LA breeze
"Is he sleeping?"
An ambulance came to haul him off
Rushed paramedics left one of his shoes on the sidewalk
In use hours ago
now a morbid sneaker monument
to what once was
There is human suffering in America
on landmark roads
next to high-end boutiques
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
*It's more about spiritual wealth.
The high boutiques,
And endless summers of theatre.
The musette grooves in the street, under moonlight.
In the structures,
Was Helen's unbreakable spell, to the trojans.
The winters were evidently chill,
& Van Gogh was entertainment,
Over wine, piano's & paraodies.
The evening symphonies created,
A loving bind between heart's, ears & eyes.
Charismatic wonders were explored,
Nature became answered prayers.
The festivals released blessings to all.
& the gardens received the most.
Giving willpower more color and effect,
In the life,
Of paris.
The centuries of war and poverty,
Held a revelation,
Of Napoleon's wisdom.
Agreeing to seek light through art.
The Paris Plague,
Transformed the innocence,
Of the Seine River,
Into a revolutionary paradise,
For a month.
I can't wait to see Paris some july.*
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 12:56 PM UTC
Have you found a rhyming Genius,
is there nothing he can't do?
Like in his library penning poems
a plenty - maybe a tome or two.
Have you found a rhyming Genius
a man of truly high esteem,
whose wealth of writing styles
ensures a daily cash-flow stream?
Yes: you found yourself a Genius:
now in a penthouse we both abide,
sunning on a bloom-filled balcony,
here pouting pigeons perch and glide.
Indeed, you found yourself a Genius
endowed with a mind so fine:
an escort to boutiques and bistros
ordering up for you the finest wine.
Yes: You found yourself a Genius
owning poetry mines - all off-shore:
who even flies by private plane
to quarry, assay, versify their ore.
Yes: you found yourself a Genius
there is nothing he can't do,
when it comes to make you happy
it’s all in rhymes and more for you.
TOBIAS
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 6:37 AM UTC
Traveled the whole wide world
Awaiting for a beauty to behold;
Searched for stories untold
Looking for a secret to be unfold;
Been to New York, Paris, Tokyo and Sydney
Climbed a mountain and walked through a valley;
To a lot of people I talked,
Those cute boy bands I stalked;
Went to famous boutiques and malls
Tried new clothes like those fashion dolls
And walked with trendy stilettos
Made different poses and took some photos;
I've searched high and low
In every place I go.
All of these I did
Just to be happy indeed,
But in the end I realize
All those worldly things will not suffice
My thirst for a blissful life.
What I wanted is far beyond those that money can buy
Those that are invisible to the naked eye;
Something that could make me smile
Without the need to travel even a single mile.
I don't want to have just a good time
It's peace of mind that I wanted to be mine;
I wanted to lay on a comfortable bed
But what I needed is a good night's sleep with nothing lingering in my head;
I wanna have something that could give me some enjoyment
But what I desired to have is genuine happiness;
I wanna try a lot of things
Wanna go fly and spread my wings,
But to feel loved, I think, is what I need
So that from all my woes I'll be freed;
And this is the kind of feeling
Ever since I have been longing.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 4:58 AM UTC
Where midnight is bright as day and time never does slow down
I find myself alone for the first time ever, walking along where
nobody knows who I am and they wouldn’t really care if they did.
Because they’ve got their own stories to fabricate and skeletons
to bury beneath onionskin layers. Two in the morning with my head
stretched to the sky and I find myself falling in love with a stranger.
Central Park is a castle with horse-drawn carriages and suddenly
I’m a scarlet-cheeked princess waiting for my naked cowboy to rescue
Me so we can run away and live in a quaint Brooklyn townhouse where
the children play ghetto games. I don’t want to live the lifestyle of the rich
and famous. Leave me to myself so I can wander the splendid city streets.
The man with wrinkles covering his ebony face and his ragged, dusty clothes
too big for his slender body sneaks a glance and sly grin at me before he picks
up his golden saxophone and serenades the subway passengers, bringing
sunshine and sultry smiles to their dark faces. He’s had a painful, wretched life
and the pain of losing a son, his first baby, to a grenade in a Middle Eastern desert
where the sun burns the soldiers’ skin as they spend hour after hour, looking for weapons they’ll never find.
The look in his eyes is clear. Making others smile, in the middle of the city subway is his heart’s content.
I drop a bill into his beaten up case and move along,
but that sweet sound overwhelming the hot, ***** air I’ll never forget.
I swear I can almost touch Pluto from where I sit, at the Top of the Rock, and the stars
are an arm’s stretch away. I can see past the Manhattan skyline and into Jersey.
I’ve seen the whole world tonight. How I wish I may, how I wish I might stay. Give me the crowded
streets and boutiques for keepsakes. I’ll pack them tightly into tissue paper and each
night when I’m ready to fly away from the small town girl living in a lonely world sort
of life I’ll make a wish and fall in love all over again in a city where nobody knows my name.
Aug 9, 2010
Aug 9, 2010 at 9:23 PM UTC
Just once
Smile
Like a fresh traveller
In amazement at the
Wonders of this world
With new found independence
As your gaze wonders
Taking in this beauty
Of the sights around you
Smile as you turn
And willingly get lured
When life knocks on your door
Into the depths
Go and don't look back
Leave a trail
Weave your stories
Let yourself be known
Take part and celebrate
Traditions in cultures
Unknown
Collect good luck charms
And dream catchers
Pass through
An organic farm
And teach the village kids
Who've never seen
Foreign skin
Let them chase and cheer
The camel as you ride out
To catch the boat
Overseas
To visit the rhinoceros
Who's becoming extinct
Then off to the boutiques
To find little treasures
Special beaded bracelets
With gemstones
Rare as the experience
You've been through
Delicious delicacies
Waiting to be tasted
And spicy smells
Waft across the market
Enticing your senses
Then for dessert
Stroll through the narrow streets
To meet the best of friends
Who meet at the waterfall
For a coffee every evening
Be in on the secret
In the screen shot
You've always seen on t.v
Smile
As you realise
Everything new
Will never become old
As you continue to unravel
A mere drop
In the ocean
And if you ever feel like
You've seen it all
There's nowhere left to go
Travel backward
Not to rewind
Or undo
But to see how the
Places you've been to
Changed and became new
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste
In the streets the unheard are rioting
Dashing stones into shop windows
Bam! A sound is banging in my ears
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste
At nighttime I will stay home
Kids robbing dreams from boutiques
Leaving behind a **** of blood
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste
Somewhere I'll be waiting for you
Look for me behind cars shot to pieces
In the silent tunnels of the subway
Go placidly! Go!
You're not made for this life
I am coming in peace; Leave in peace!
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste
Aug 31, 2023
Aug 31, 2023 at 1:30 PM UTC
Most kids would dress their barbie dolls and have tea parties at the age of six.
I am a somber person.
At the age of six, I’d often lay in bed and think of ways my marriage would come to an end if I were to find a Prince Charming.
I learned from my mother; two divorces made an unhappy woman.
After three years of marriage,
I would still wake my husband at 3am and ask if he still loved me.
“Silly girl, of course I do.”
We’d go back to bed, his arms securely wrapped around my waist.
I felt utterly safe.
Now,
I can’t pinpoint when all these “late night shifts” started just how I can’t pinpoint when I first started being depressed.
Then came traveling frequently for “conferences” and with it my panic attacks.
I found “her” more than 6 months after it begun.
Now, I’d often stare at her Facebook page.
She had dimples and looked so jolly in every picture.
Me,
Eyebags and morbid.
Every time I looked at her, I would forgive you.
Sometimes, I’d “coincidentally” be at the coffee shops she goes to.
Then it was the clothing boutiques.
Before I knew it, I am wearing clothes she’d wear.
My makeup is done eerily similar to hers.
Today, marks five years of our marriage.
You said you’d come home for dinner.
That, I, cooked the best meals.
You’d bring a bottle of wine.
We’d dance to the first song we ever did to.
**** till dawn breaks.
11pm.
No show.
The food is cold.
The house is cold.
I am cold.
At this point, If I could, I was willing to strip out of my skin and wear hers.
12am and there is a creak of the door.
You come in, take me in to your arms, hands on my waist just like any night, two years ago.
I can’t really focus on the mantra of your apologies,
because
a) We both reeked of the same perfume
b) We both reeked of the same perfume
Perhaps, I have already started shredding my skin.
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 10:25 AM UTC
We'll run away together, love
To the shores of Italy
Among the rows of grape vines
Beneath the willow trees
We'll buy a villa in Positano
Red brick and marble, by the sea
We'll dance with wine and moonlight
If you'll run away with me
In the boutiques and cafes
We'll drink espresso and high tea
The pebble streets call out your name
Come with me now, let's flee
A one-way ticket is simply frugal
I'm sure you will agree
We'll kiss beneath the Elba stars
And create a new reality
Jun 4, 2018
Jun 4, 2018 at 11:31 AM UTC
Zunè Veronique leading to a mall is a river that flows through a tunnel of trees.
Where her boutique is.
A lock that hangs on a key chain with three golden keys.
She asked me to write her a poem please?
Before you can enter the boutique there is a a bridge completely covered in water to cross.
Walking through abandoned malls to find her boutique.
Her favourite show could be heard playing in the background that is ridiculousness.
Her name can be seen in the logo when I stand in front of the boutique.
From the boutiques entrance you cant really see what is going on, on the inside.
Plants that are standing on the outside.
Huge windows where you can see her lovely design.
Her clothes are top of the line.
As I enter the boutique bubbles flew past me.
It was so fast I didn't see.
Before the sun sets.
I walked past princess Jasmines dress.
Mordecia was seen he was a mess.
Her favourite song could be heard playing over the stereo.
While your looking at her photo.
The smell of clothes as you enter the boutique.
I saw a mirror that shows her how beautiful she is.
Going into the boutique is like entering the depths of her heart and her creativity can be found there.
Hurt her and beware.
When you enter the boutique you see her beautiful face.
Whenever your looking for her you can find her in the boutique.
What is she designing something special from her heart.
She is designing a black dress with gold shoes, painting someone's nails and doing her hair close to her heart.
Everything she designs is genuine.
Her heart kept safe in a bag of her own design.
I knew it from the start that she is a sweetheart.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 3:51 PM UTC