"fashionista" poems
Fashionista Queen
She wears all the best labels
Too bad she's a *****
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 8:21 PM UTC
Fat;
Bubbly lipids gathering and stacking in a fashioned order.
Fat;
It was not so "fashionista" when she gained and gained.
Skinny;
She was lost, had no where to run but to the pantry.
Skinny;
Bones showing, skin glimmering in the sunlight.
Fat;
Sticking to her bones as paper sticks to glue.
Fat;
Poking and Prodding at the blubbery material that sits upon her femurs.
Unhappy;
She will always be.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
(Published in Miami Herald on May 26, 2014 Brigitte Jacobs Arnold
Obituary Guest Book View Sign ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI. Services will be held at 7:00 pm and a viewing from 12:00 pm to 8:00pm at Maspons Funeral Home located at 3500 SW 8th Street, Miami Florida 33135 Wednesday May 28th.)
Don’t ask me why but
I went online this afternoon.
Read the Miami-Herald obituaries.
And not just the Biggies:
Maya Angelou at 86 and
A one hundred year old Herb Jeffries.
Of course we knew Maya,
Her caged bird singing
Softly in our souls,
But may not be aware of Herb Jeffries.
A former singer in the Ellington band,
Herb was known as the Bronze Buckaroo,
In a series of all-black 1930s Westerns--
His nickname evoking
His racial identity,
Quite muddled, flexible.
Although both sad passages to be sure,
It was neither Maya nor Herb
Triggering my tender tears.
But the obituary of:
ARNOLD, BRIGITTE JACOBS, 78, MIAMI,
Known as Oma, Mutti and Mama.
Well, not exactly the Brigitte obit,
My tears for her long-lived mother,
Brigitte’s mother, durable & abiding,
Still breathing at 97:
Hildegard Wolle.
Reading Brigitte’s bio—
German born, Berlin student,
Singer-fashionista &
Proud, naturalized
American citizen—
I can’t stop thinking about Hildegard.
As if the woman didn’t already
Have more than her share of trouble
On this planet nearly a century,
Having already lost her
Grandson Roland, and now,
Her daughter.
Something wacky is going on here.
Some long-distance life lesson
Being applied here.
Poor Hildegard: ungifted with Alzheimer’s,
Suffers crystal distant memories,
Some really bad karma
Stored up in past lives.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 3:54 PM UTC
Just how does warm weather conjure
the inebriated
&
lovers,
on to
Londons’ Tube?
Are sweaty nights
an aphrodisiac tune,
to an alcoholic groove?
Wavering
tight stepped shuffles,
paired with
googly-eyed,
hand-clasped,
lip-locked,
snuggles.
Inward thought
toothpicking the corners of mouths,
as cheerful eyes spy
the Underground antics of the South.
That off the shoulder dress,
stranger clothes,
newer shoes;
a fashionista bazar,
A fleeting memory is
Winters’ white metaled fire.
Hapless in this weather
what else to do but smile?
Is it not so much easier than to revile?
Warm weather has a mission…
dismiss disgust.
Go on London smile.
It’s a must.
© Qwey.ku
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 3:57 AM UTC
flower child.
so soft spoken and sweet.
you are my hippy sister.
fashionista you set trends.
I love your vibe.
so calm and carefree.
with a creative mind and unique soul
you are art.
I can imagine you with a
big curly fro.
paint cans, brushes and canvases
cluttering your NewYork flat
as sounds of
Lana del Rey and Jhene Aiko
fill your apartment
and posters of
Aubrey Graham
grace your walls
ten years from now.
O.Rob.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 4:18 PM UTC
Too many things we are afraid to want
too much of ourselves drifts by feeling no love
too many cooks may spoil the soup
but one hire may have only one trick
what will you do when the order changes?
while you are young explore your trades
a fashionista, a driver, go wild in the circus
***** won't came and make you have fun
he will come and explore it with you
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 2:12 AM UTC
“The nerdish image”
They say I am a nerd, they say I am a geek,
I shouldn’t care, I shouldn’t bother but I am done being meek…
I am sure that the nerds do not really bunk,
And in case they do, they most definitely don’t flunk.
I am wearing large specs,I am holding a fat book,
But it still doesn’t call for you to throw that look,
Don’t be judgmental, please don’t assume,
To me it’s so unfair, every time you presume.
I might look bookish, I can’t cat-walk,
I am reserved, I am shy, I do not really talk,
I am no fashionista, but my deepest concerns aren’t books,
brands, clothes, shoes, yes, I care about my looks,
okay,Call me a nerd, call me a geek,
I do not really care, won’t complain, won’t speak,
But behind my back, everything that you talk,
It still hurts sometimes, coz it sounds like a mock,
Good marks, good grades, oh! I want them always,
But they aren’t always mine, if you haven’t noticed, just in case,
“Calling me a nerd isn’t the real concern,
It’s the fact that I am not, and I wish I had been one.”
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 11:46 AM UTC
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
10,000 hipsters stand in the square
with ***** makeup and ****** flare
prayers fly into the dim lit sky
as a generation asks god ‘why’
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
I sit here in despair
for a god of whom I did care
well, just a man with a master’s eye
for making all of the people sigh…
and now I sit here with my head in my hand
just trying to understand
what this world has come unto
can there ever again be skies of blue
and while swishy in her satin and tat
frock coat and bipperty-bopperty hat
there can never be another like that –
the morning news brought a cold chill
as the icon of us undesirables
came to be laid at rest
it’s on America’s tortured brow
leaving us to sit solemn
as old records spin
telling tales of space men
and life on mars
a little china girl
and one man who feel to earth
it’s on America’s tortured brow
the fashionista of glam rock
the birther of Ziggy
the man who sold the world
forever changing
chameleon
in smart shoes –
spinning grooves
and scattered cd’s
tears slipping away
as memories already start to fade
it’s the freakiest show
look at those cavemen go
will they ever know
just who left us
take a look at the lawman
beating up the wrong guy
it’s a god-awful small affair
to the girls with the mousy hair
now she walks with a sunken dream
and the cream that once rose so high
so too will come the time to die
and as all of us let him go
there can be a bit of hope for those
who carry a torchy flare
to the girl with the mousy hair
and will sing in the dead of night
with face paint and a big spot light
******* and the party boys
come out with their fancy toys
but it’s a god-awful small affair
if you find you’re too square to care
‘bout the goblin kings sad depart
from this earth and from hipster hearts
see these kids have no loyalty
to a man who helped define me
when the world gave me a frown
for kissing boys in a dainty gown
ole Davy gave me peace
with a confidence that never ceased
oh Mr. Jones I’m in debt to you
for turning my grey skies to blue
now I’ll forever carry this torch
from green valleys to my own front porch
but it’s a god-awful small affair
it’s nice to know some of us care…
about the earth and sun and stars
and yes
there is life
on
Mars –
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
I first saw you walking down the street
I don’t know when you first saw me
maybe at home
in the mirror of your memory
maybe in the pages of the book
you were reading outside in the winter
at that cafe
You had me all smiles
and I had you
all similes
a pretty little thing
to stroke my pretty little thing against
You in your fashionista bombshell outfit
me in my childlike excitement
as I walked on past
and I wonder
if later that night
you were in your bedroom
which is just as messy as mine
I wonder if you thought to yourself
“well hot **** that was one hot ****** guy”
if not that’s fine
my words are subjectively an object of your subject
Does that make sense?
I seem to do that a lot
rambling over myself and over myself
as if you caught me in a lie
I hadn’t yet told
I hold on to the belief
that You caught me in the corner of your eye
and decided to save me for later
It’s the only thing us passing strangers
have really got
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 4:20 PM UTC
She left me for him
He's a big ageing baby
His diaper is chic
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
the palace of the moment having sold out
of her usual tear soaked apparel
and her casual wear fascination needing a
quick fix lead her across the wastelands the shopping plaza
to this wind-soaked backlot and its hidden wonderland
the store has no sing
just a off green door with the words
only the accursed may leave
she shimmies through the door
he makes his way up endless sidewalk
doing a little dance step every few feet
because he knows that is what a madman
would do in his place
his rags are the best he could muster
but they will serve
to be mad is fashionable
and appearance and substance is everything
he mutter to himself
he walks the rainswept backlot and its blatant ****** factory
and finds a green door with the words
****** your own pretences
he slips inside to gaze with open awe
she keeps her politics in her pocket
the latest soapbox to preach the ******** line from
politics fashionista who dabble in whatever
the latest trend on facebook seems to lend
new age drivel or some bomb throwing **** with
a distrust of anything that might be another point of view
got a real open mind
long as it something she wants to hear
shes occupying the breeze block in the backlot
sitting by a green door with the words
believe in nothing and that's all you'll have
she whimpers at the thought
but she trots in to take a look
he washes the blood off his hands
but it never washes away
don't judge me you aint
seen enough
been enough
known enough
to judge much of anything
sleepwalk through your days
with your diapers and handbills
inviting to the great change that'll never come
its all just a fashion statement
social tyrants protesting political tyrants
go find your green door
find out if its a lion or lamb
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
YOU! Yes you!
With the skin!
Are you really going to put
yourself d
o
w
n today?
Stoop to the level
of those around you?
Or rise from your tomb like a
fashionista from hell?
STOP
Pat your cheeks
Kiss your fingertips and take a leap
Because today is YOURS
And no one can put you back in that grave.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 7:42 PM UTC
I had a good day.
It's a rarity
It's delusion
Merely a mirage
But somehow, it's still good.
I can just forget
Forget about the complicated thoughts of maturity
Of lost innocence
And only think of the Mooshkians.
It's stupid really, how really stupid we are.
The puns
The god-like laughter of the three out of place children we are
the immature ****** euphemisms spewing from our ***** minds...
As if one more joke would free us from the social pressures.
We sing as if no one were glaring at us with their judgmental yuppie eyes
Even though we know they are
Those children you see, laughing, huddled up in a circle
You think to yourself that we need to grow up, to take life and grab it by the *****
What we would say to that... well... we would laugh because you said *****
This is the only time we have to act like the children we are, together.
We all have mature lives by ourselves
Mia, my ******** heavy-metal queen
Mason, my little fashionista
And me, the genius poet
Together, we are THE MOOSHKIANS!!
WE WILL TRY AND WE WILL STRIVE AND
WE WILL MAKE IT TONIGHT
BECAUSE WE ARE THE MOOSHKIANS AGAINST THE BOOSHKIANS
AND WE WILL STRIVE AND MAKE IT TONIGHT.
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Mountain sunrises burst over mountain tops.
Suburb sunrises slowly rise over rooftops.
Illumination for the masses.
Sweet morning kisses from a 4 year old. Soft sighs as she snuggles deeper into my arms.
"Yesa, I can make my own cereal."
The 7 year old is trying to find green clothing
Were matching to the aquarium today.
The suburbs and the wilds have similar morning noises.
Crickets still awake, singing their song.
But anytime I have a cuddly sleepy baby in my arms and a headstrong mini fashionista in my room
Is the best.
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 7:40 AM UTC
Hello poetry
Is a place
For dreamers, realist's, believers, trolls, soul's, spirit's, tarot's, screamer's, bleeder's, laugher's, cryer's, want's, desire's haiku's, free writing, anger, love inviting, all enticing, all poetry, Shakespearian's, poe-soul's, lord of the ring readee's, fashionista's, prophetic poetry, weirdies, goofies, strange one's, disgusting things....
All real
All MAKE BELIEVE...........
This is a place
Called hello poetry.......
And as for me
I'm just writing for mine queen....
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 10:51 PM UTC
Drip drip,
Rivulets,
Swarming silver drops,
Like rivets on cold metal,
But you are hot.
Perspiring,
Burning,
Crazy lady runs,
Chasing her own 24 inch waist,
Fighting fat.
Lycra leotard,
Labelled,
Fashionista fitness fetish,
Wanting every eye to desire her,
Dehydrates,
Sizzles,
Drizzled,
Expires.
Aug 1, 2019
Aug 1, 2019 at 1:55 PM UTC
You hide behind those auburn locks around your face
To shield yourself from the cruel world
You walk with your head held low and flat shoes, you wouldnt dare wear heels because you'd hate to cause any attention on yourself with the annoying clinking of the bad choice of shoes so you wear long sweaters and dark colors because you want the people who do see you to only see darkness, the color of your soul is what you call it
and you honestly believe that, you love to live in the shadows and one day you even laughed at yourself bitterly for loving your loneliness
You've forgotten that you were in public when you laughed and someone was watching you the entire time
He saw the way your eyes lit up when you smiled and he loved your deep dimples that shaped your face, he figured he could stare at your green doe like eyes for the rest of his life and he began to daydream about running his fingers through your hair
When you caught him staring you quickly looked away and cursed at yourself but his smile deepened noticing you cursed, he loved the idea of you having a feisty side, he liked you so much that he decided to take a seat next to you and that's when everything changed
The fact that he thought you were beautiful was incredible to you and like magic you no longer thought the world was that cruel anymore since there were still good people like him In it,
You no longer walked in flats anymore you began to think they were boring and out of season, you often opted for some pretty heels that clinked when you walked because you liked feeling like a supermodel walking the runway, you began to love your red locks of hair, you even decided to go to the hair salon and let them give you beach waves
Now your hair flows beautifully down your back.
Your fashion sense went from boring to fashionista every single day when you left your house you were wearing something new and gorgeous
You loved your new look, and you also deeply loved the new boy who brought all of this confidence out of you.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
You held everything together when it seemed everything was crumbling down.
If it's any consultation I'll be the first to admit.
I miss you with everything I have in me.
It's not that beautiful face or the body that accompanies it.
It's those huge eyes that I could stare into forever.
With all the time we've spent with each other.
As the time we spend far from each other.
I miss the goofy big haired girl that always made me laugh.
The wit to fall in love with someone like me.
The things I reveal in braille.
You took every part of me and wore me with your look.
Your fashionista sensibility.
You make the simplest of anything that much better.
I grew accustom to those moments.
The moments I never sought in anyone else.
I could never look at anyone the way I looked at you.
Eccentric and fun.
A model that rips the runway of my eye.
A pretty face that made every idea that much brighter.
It was always the sincerity of how you looked at everything.
From your hair.
Your smile.
I miss that.
The precious feeling when I'd hold you in my arms.
The need to protect something as precious as you.
Life makes the simplest of anything complicated.
I sought to protect and cherish you with everything I have.
My heart in love with everything you are.
You irk me, you irritate me. You press my every right button.
Most of all I could never look at another woman the way that I've looked at you.
The reasons I miss you, that I love you so.
You changed my perspective of what love is.
I irritate you for the beauty found in those moments.
To miss a flight and spend just a second more.
Forgetting the public eye, to fade off.
The things we keep between you and I.
Your sense of humor.
Your tongue against the side of my neck.
We've shared pieces of ourselves that I know deep down we wish we could take back.
But all the money in the world couldn't make any other moment that more important.
Pride aside, I left the best part of me with you.
If I could do it all again I wouldn't change a thing.
You inspire me without solemn apology.
Because of you I am different.
The quality of how special you are.
Deep down I crumbled.
You inspired me to find the beauty in the rubble
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
We are officially broadening the categories that measure talent
Having a musical ear is crafting a playlist based on a single feeling
Being a historian is knowing everything there is to know about your favorite sci-fi series
Being a cinematic genius is putting together videos in your bedroom with perfect lighting and transitions
Being a fashionista is composing a trendsetting outfit from the thrift store with the 15 bucks your mom gave you
Being a poet is texting her at 2 AM after spending days finding the right words to express how you feel
The past favors tradition while the future favors you
Nov 25, 2021
Nov 25, 2021 at 2:23 AM UTC
Queen barista ***** on retreat yo
Mobbing fashionista smokin' reefah
Bro
Think you Christo?
Some bueno vista preyista?
goddess garlica antagonista?
I hate oregon
It hates me
Chomp bite chew bleed
Repeat
Chomp bite chew bleed
Sep 1, 2023
Sep 1, 2023 at 2:35 PM UTC