"revlon" poems
i have fallen in love
with the blush of the cherry blossom
the delicate scent
the bloom on the branch
i have fallen in love
with the cascade of the cherry blossom
the clusters like grapes
and patterns of light and shade
i have fallen in love
with a pink so pink
fresher than strawberry ice-cream
or revlon’s baby pink gloss
i have fallen in love
with cherry blossoms in the breeze
petals flutter and hover
like snowflakes in the night
i have fallen in love
with every day, every season, every flower
every birth, every death, every sickness
because life changes and alters
i have fallen in love
with life, with love, with pain
i have fallen in love
i have fallen in love
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 5:31 AM UTC
Perhaps I will become a waxing fiend.
A perpetrator of the nerves within my legs
In order to reach the imaginary beauty
that society has ingrained into my open mind.
Yet how can I ever fulfil this growing hole inside
Urging, commanding that I shall not be beautiful
Without Revlon mascara and tinted eyebrows,
That my diet must consist of a celery stick a day
And I must have a new wardrobe every week
- to keep in with the highest of fashions.
Do men really care if I'm wearing Gucci or Prada?
Would my restricted diet and devotion to thinspiration blogs impress them?
Has society really just given up on the love of personality,
the good old fashioned 'inner beauty'?
May 13, 2012
May 13, 2012 at 2:19 AM UTC
She steps out,
Her pea coat peppered in cigarette ashes
Her eyes contain a mystery concealed by her dark revlon lashes
Her crimson heart shaped painted lips aren't enough to distract me from her blue sequin dress, Tightly draped to shape her perfect Pocahontas hips
God bless her sole,
It was too cold for peep toe pumps but venerating value was her goal
I felt foolish handing her flowers,
For when holding them next to her they lost all their vivid surrealism
"They're wild flowers",
I told her,
"California Bluebells"
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 2:21 PM UTC
Beauty is power
The words we teach our girls
whipped mousse over the freckles along your temples
will get you respect
the zit under your chin
will make you somebody to avoid for a month
The rouge on your cheeks
will make people think they've made you laugh each time you smile
Taken more seriously under anonymity on cyberspace
than to that same person talking to your face
As the standards grow higher
The modified faces and bodies of revlon and maybeline
become tall tales in every sense
The waistline is taken in to better display the shellac of that manicure
why of course!
as more and more voices go hoarse
from taking out meals before
in fear of a body to abhor
when beauty is power
and its concepts changing
is it only to keep us from misbehaving>
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 5:05 AM UTC
Light shades,
Dark shades,
What am i to wear?
Lipstick, mascara,
Base and nail polish,
Mom in the back ground says, ' You're going to college.'
**** !
I need a new bag,
Also a liner by Mac.
Maybelline polishes,
All stacked,
So many colours,
But not black.
I need to apply Revlon,
As much as i can put on,
Making my lashes prominant.
5th Avenue, Still and Elizebeth Arden,
I want to wear them all,
' Oh no, i don't ' says my conscience,
But then again they're scents and my heart wants them.
Unzipping my wallet,
' No ', i have not much.
Making the puppy dog face,
' Mom ! Can i get money to buy a base ? '
She nodded.
' Also i want perfume, liner, mascara and a nail polish. '
She gives me a look.
' Go get your money and spend them on it.'
But i have no money,
I say,
She says,' Get a job and buy all of it.'
Like a baby i sob.
She ignores,
Looking all bored,
So she knows,
I'm acting emotional then why not scold
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
I wake up some days not loving who I am
And on these days that come just a little too often, I look at my hands.
I remember days when I thought they were perfect.
These delicate angels that defy fragility; they belonged somewhere.
I remember thinking I would be a hand model.
At the fragile age of 10, I knew what I was put on this earth for.
It was meant to be.
My perfect hands could do anything.
McDonald’s would want them in their Big Mac commercials.
Revlon would want my healthy cuticles to model nail polish
I could learn sign language and open up worlds of possibilities.
I remember the day I shared my dream with my mother,
“Mom, I’m going to be a hand model,” I said with appropriate gravity.
“But, honey,” she replied, “your middle finger is crooked.”
I wake up some days not loving who I am
And on these days that come just a little too often, I look at my hands.
The shattered dreams they hold with every imperfection—
The broken what ifs and crooked middle fingers
More crooked with every nervous crack of a knuckle
And syncopated snap, snap
with every **** you and broken promise
I forget what it’s like to trust
I wake up some days wanting to go back to sleep
Back to my dream with my perfect hands
that with a touch could turn plastic to steel
turn thieves to Robin Hoods, turn the weary to the wise
with my perfect hands that
gave youth to the old, clarity to the young
sanity to the misunderstood and
promise to the dreamers
hope to the hopeless and
a smile to the ones who have already given up
back to my dream where
my lips aren’t sealed, but my hands are
a cupped offering of sweetness, concentrated
But honey, your middle finger is crooked
And I wake again in a warm sweat.
My perfect hands are lonely
And impatient
They want to be warm again
Like they used to be when they were perfect
Whole, like when they held another.
I wake up some days not loving who I am,
and on these days that come just a little too often, I look at my hands.
But on some days, I forget about my crooked middle finger.
Feb 20, 2012
Feb 20, 2012 at 8:22 PM UTC
She preferred to take her smoke
break in the bathroom facing
the mirror, losing herself
with each deep breath on the
soapstreak glass.
The single was her
speakeasy, her dressing room,
her long, French cigarette parting
her lips to keep her lipstick from
gluing them shut. She pulled on the
paper towel lever for a temp lover
to kiss until her lips stopped bleeding
Revlon. And the tissue lay balled up
in the trash
having only known her tar love
for a few moments.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
Mama's hands were smooth and cool
When she pushed my hair back and told me not to worry
Because sometimes mommies and daddies fight, but that's okay.
My childhood stretched before me
A long dirt road where daddy's absence hung in the air like
The sour smell of whiskey
On his breath
When he tucked me in at night
He always had the same shade of lipstick smeared on his neck
I found it later in a Walgreens downtown
Revlon number seven, Not Your Mother's Mauve
How ironic, I thought.
Because Mama never did wear lipstick
I remember nights where she sat in the living room
Painted blue, she kept her anguish in a secret place
Where I am not, and daddy always will be
She kept him there
Suspended in a light
Not of scrutiny but of love
And I hated him for it
Because my mother's loss would tear her apart
And I was left behind a closed bedroom door
The grieve for my happy family.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 2:08 AM UTC
She intertwined her thick fingers
behind both shelves of the medicine
cabinet and embraced them clamorously
into the sink.
I.
Maybelline, Rimmel, and Revlon
now spotted with flakes of dried toothpaste
and ****** hair.
Just.
Her hands dove wrist deep into the pool
of glamor and acceptance before her
and emerged with scarlet lipstick.
Want.
She uncapped and carefully ran it across
her stiffened lips, accidentally coloring
her skin and the corners of her open mouth.
To.
She mashed a makeup brush into a jar
of powdered blush and swept it over
her cheekbones like a blood red sunset
overtaking a mountain.
Be.
With black tears running down her face
and staining her white shirt,
she reapplied her mascara.
Beautiful.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
The runt of the litter?
the floppy eared one?
just **** on the carpet
because you'll soon be gone..
It's a cruel thing to say, but today
nobody wants what's
not classed as perfection.
If the reflection they see isn't Gucci or
Revlon they're gone,
so are you.
Look on the bright side and
that is the right side, your good side,
your blind side or even your hind side
but look on the other side there's always
some sob story hogging your old glory.
We used to wrap chips in the papers
and the face of Churchill
often popped up in the grains of salt, vinegar faced,
didn't alter the taste though.
The runt of the litter?
don't be bitter
we all were that dog
at one time.
Feb 22, 2015
Feb 22, 2015 at 1:04 PM UTC
Mama's hands were smooth and cool
When she pushed my hair back
and told me not to worry
Because sometimes mommies and daddies fight, But that's okay
My childhood stretched before me
A long dirt road
where daddy's absence hung in the air
like
The sour smell of whiskey
On his breath
When he tucked me in
but that's okay.
at night he always had the same shade of lipstick smeared on his neck
I found it later
in a Walgreens downtown.
Revlon number seven,
"Not Your Mother's Mauve"
How ironic, I thought.
Because Mama never did wear lipstick
I remember nights
when she sat in the living room
Painted blue,
she kept her anguish
where I am not,
and daddy always will be
She kept him there
Suspended in a light
Not of scrutiny
but of love
And I hated him for it
Because my mother's loss would tear her apart
And I was left
behind a closed bedroom door
to grieve for
my
happy
family.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
I could be at home listening to music
…instead im here,
A place where music wouldn’t dare resound.
Only vibes here reverbate from faults
That rival san andreas,
Understructure in slow motion grind that drowns
Out all frequencies in the air.
Revlon reinforced foundation
But
Skin makes for brittle mantle
Ridges run the length and price of pride.
“I’m better than you, at least i’m__________________.”
Fill in the blanks,
Emotions get a babysitter and pacifier
So the ground can hold the pressure.
The grass will grow to cover the cracks
And if not
Buy a fake garden.
And the music stays away.
No ******** in harmony,
It needs to flow.
I look around……
At least im not like them.
Feel myself tremor a bit.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
Oooh Lord,
Just came from the doctor's office , and was told I am 5’1,
What excuse me ? …
I was 5’2
come...on... now,
5’3 if trying to impress somebody,
5’5 in heels,
looking cute, right dress, hair fine “beauty shop style,”
Come... on... now,
I am 46
I have friends, THEY don't look this good.
Come...on….now.
I have secret friends Revlon, Dark and Lovely,
Who has grey hair? Honey; you never seen grey hair on ME
No sir, as long I have 12.99.
Yes, and. I walk into a room. They take notice.
I am a strong powerful black woman,
But an INCH
Now I'm just
I am a short woman
Oooh Lord an INCH
I have lay down
I have a headache.
Dream of the being tall again.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 9:21 AM UTC