She sees ravaged faces everyday.
Here a gray, there a gray,
Everywhere a gray, gray.
Even the fleeting beauty of butterflies
Disintegrates into dust.
She forever tries to justify
why she should live and take up space,
why she should look into someone’s eyes
without them looking away.
Dreams and ideas sit cold and hard,
and wither wasted, never being tasted.
Dead dreams like petals falling,
Sounding like her heartbeats pounding-
Measuring the lies of time.

I am beautiful,
don't you know that?

My pimples make other pimples
bow in awe,
gaze with uncontrollable lost,
my flabby arms make the women
sneer with envy.
The stripes I acquired on my thighs
and luscious backside have men telling me
I'm the next best thing.
My unibrow and hairs on my chiny-chin
on my unpainted face have makeup companies
selling my skin across mediterranean seas.
My diet has been written about in many
magazines,
even Homer follows my diet,
it's a very important part of life.
I never smoke,
I hear the world is going to outlaw it.

I have married every mirror I've come across
even my reflection in the ocean
has proposed.
How could I turn myself down
I am beautiful you know.

I am beautiful,
I can't believe you don't know that.

Every piece of me is beautiful
even the fungus on my toes,
but I hear it isn't good to brag.

i wonder if the need to talk about myself comes from the stars;
narcissism is a common trait in all three of my signs,
taurus, leo, and scorpio;
or it could be the fact that i'm an artist;
a person who tells their own story over and over through means of different media.
i've always said that artists are narcissists,
we come built with an inherent fixation on ourselves,
an insatiable desire to fill the world with us;
we need to be seen, need to be heard, need to be felt.
but i'm not so sure if that's it.
artists, we want to be known for our work;
i want that, and i want to be known for me.
i want to be thought of when i'm not around,
i want someone to hear something and think of my face.
i want to talk someone's ear off.

i live my whole life in a jar;
i don't speak much,
and i'm often too quiet to be heard from behind the glass.
can the world be about me, for a minute?

i can't control how people see me inside this jar,
i can't control the weather,
or the future.
i have no control over anything at all;
can i explain myself?
can i explain?
can you hear me?

Oh how beautiful your petals,
how lush your blossom.
Such a tall strong stalk
and wandering tendrils of roots.

No lack of sustenance,
could wilt or wither thy pressence.
The face of your flower demanding the attention of the suns.

Yet beneath your supple color lies
such toxicity known to the few.
You sow the seeds among
neighboring gentle flowers.

Planting their self doubt while
poisoning their colors.
They wilt and die at your feet.
Oh Narcissa, how divine.

I can be enchanted by how sunlight
through your windows filter brighter
around dirt. Everything out of
your open doors screams self-less "I!"
How the architecture astounds
and enlightens ignoramuses, balconies
bear shortcomings of the uninitiated.

I bought your portraits of
rising from the garbage
left you from those
who ******* you over.

How many people could praise you enough?

Ungrateful, to believe
your enemies and other frauds.
I dare doubt your methods?

The castle surrounded
by gas lamps and
gas lighters can not
burn down
so long as mirrors show
only the beauty of your
astounding heart

-shaped head.

day after day
sitting on the water
she gazed at herself
around herself
through herself
as the water went on

she knew herself
her limitless, multidimensional self

they don't know ****

I saw the seventh temptress
  descending ‘pon the stairs
her confidence bold, exuding
  her power, and her airs

The men who looked, at once, upon
  the vision of her beauty
their eyes were hard, their jaws were slack
to adore and lust their duty

Yes, every eye upon her stared
  her spell, it had been cast
yes, every eye upon her looked
  all.. except mine eyes were last

She looked upon and toward my way
   and wondered how this could be
her spell had captured every heart and soul
  all else except for me

How could I stay outside her whim
   and not be so enthralled
a crease appeared between her brows
    upon her head appeared a cloud

I for one, the only, seemed
    she could not bend my will
how could she know I'd lost my heart
   my soul in torment still

The power I did hold from her
   was my lack, my broken heart
my eyes unfocused, myself denied
    due... my spirit lost, cold, and hard

She had no power o'er me
  in days gone by, the worst
of countless lovers from times the nigh
                        


                     'twas I



                I was her first




                  
© An Awakening - Roberto Carlos 2019