"starlet" poems
Four walls; a pair of cupped hands.
Jaundiced like an open eye; an open cove
Prescribing solitude to those whom solitude cannot withstand,
And I choose this cold corner which is furthest from the door,
To be where I am not, before
Your proclivities become my own, I write. I write,
My window holds my breath and frosts the world,
The moon in his amber gown, dressed in chatoyance and spite,
Godspeed; dark, dark shroud for naked skies!
Six floors, walls, doors from you am I.
I couldn't write when the sun peered in,
Her inquiry evangelizing the specks of time left upon the glass -
I've heard it all before; God's shining face leaves none unloved (unseen)
but his spotlight has no starlet; so who can see me up here?
We can't see from windows, dear.
I'd live and sing for the cloudless hall
The nursery of misanthropists crawling on the grey cobblestone
And the lilt of the wind on the rose; through squares nice and small -
The peevish moth shudders at the sight of itself obscuring the day through the glass.
It seems we're always in the way.
May 11, 2018
May 11, 2018 at 5:40 PM UTC
Manning up in Texas
Geldof overdose
needles at the bed stand
starlet comatose
California dreaming
killer meets demise
hurling in a taxi
puke fee on the rise
Fighting in the Gaza
Jordan's holy war
rebels on a mission
Jihad underscore
The North Korean riddle
pales in grand design
crisis on the border
planes fall from the sky
Cooking on a deadline
tempting tapenades
herbs are in the spotlight
wines that give a nod
Google maps the body
DOW at record highs
Uber comes to market
corn is on the rise
Apple on its earnings
Caterpillar dead
European sanctions
banks have **** the bed
Clippers threaten boycott
Longhorns follow purge
Lynch is out of training camp
James is on the verge
Leinart taking *** shots
coughing up a lung
lions take a licking
fans are throwing dung
Another day in Vegas
Primm from A-Z
rolling out an ankle
a flying SUV
Quiet tempting spaces
made better by design
multi color pea coat
silence fuels the mind
Stabbing in the subway
goat caught in a well
apes are selling tickets
(but leave behind a smell)
Puberty on trial
a man without a head
teachers feel alone
lets take them to the shed!
Jonah's tomb destroyed
wreckage in Mumbai
Sugar Daddy sites
Freedom 85
The immigrant debate
Russia's mounting toll
unions on a mission
heads are gonna roll
Beaches for the nudists
hotels on the cheap
the best generic brands
a list you have to keep!
Planning your estate
questions from the camp
a mansion up for sale
where once they filmed The Champ
Midwives threaten action
aboriginal act
truckers want concessions
that train has left the track
Sharks are found in Fundy
a prized but perilous catch
food we love to hate the most
an irrefutable batch
A family on the brink
I want my kids to fail!
politicians drains all hope
a ban on Israel
Follow out each headline
let the columns be your guide
all these things did happen
the day that Newhouse died
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:29 AM UTC
Captain Scarlet
Had a weakness for harlots
Who always wore scarlet as well.
This could sound
The death knell
For the show
Thundered Gerry.
It's so deleterious
I'm deadly serious
Less of the hoes
And more Thunderbirds Are Go.
Captain Scarlet's
Favourite starlet
However
Was no harlot
Even though
she always wore
Scarlet as well
But it was quite difficult to tell
That she was not so
Even if one was very clever.
Unlike Bobby Shafto.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
Time passes by like a whistle in the wind. Ignored and only observed within the thickness of one's skin. The once gnawing temptation in Lula's eyes were now exchanged in kaput like a dead black swan in the lake.
It grew on her and she can only justify it by moving her legs back in forth and forward with her ballet shoes; she can only obtain her physical through the applause of everyone around her. Yet, there were trickles of blood forming inside her internal wound — as the piano strikes another note in A minor, she can only whisk in pain and undone drafts in her head. "Tis will be over", she raises her head upon the crowds heaping in excitement, she turned around and flew her wings upright and the heads of the audience once more clapped in vain and delirium nonsensical pleasure.
As Chopin's symphony were almost in the last note, she stood straight and made her way to the middle. There, she locked eyes with her forbidden lover and a small smile throughout. The intensity of another Vivaldi's winter classic can be grasp once more and another set up of white swans gathered together — formed a circle and she went in the middle. Her eyes turned black and her wings bleed another tint of jet black and crimson. The crowds awed in reverence and she soared above them. A starlet in the headless crowds and dreary sweet rustle of voices gave her another bliss.
And while she was served aloft, there were another macabre symphony that plays through the soft rough piano; it was a solemn prayer and they were the kind souls going up to the heavens.
"Go on, Salem. Play the winter magic," Salem could only look at his muse and he strike another note, passing notes two steps from their 'haven'.
Lula slowly ripped her wings for the last time and smiled to all the headless men. Her satin dress reveals her plumpy chest and an hourglass body. Lula is a goddess black swan. Men could only forward their eyes and threw her pennies once more and she could only move in her balletic conventional pose. For the last time, she flew with her black tinted wings and they were all beheaded.
The white swans began to sing in a solemn outcry until it became too remorseful. The white swans turned their heads down when they met Lula's dead eyes. Her laugh echoing the whole stadium with its own persona and it is like crawling down into waltz where it reaches their earshot. They can only sing in albeit and expensive heads started to explode.
"Two steps from hell," she sings.
May 30, 2021
May 30, 2021 at 7:11 AM UTC
It was rumors
An overzealous starlet
Her name Cassandra
Well-known to critics
Beyond a casting call
Conquering the boulevards
This flaming Diva
Her serpent attitude is her might
For I
Once bitten into poisonous passion
Repeatly stumbling
As her looks proclaim the likes of a darling Dove
Losing a battle that cannot be won
Her graphic representation for apparition
Appeals to men with greater value
Calamity is her weapon of choice
For days upon her roof
I've fallen
To a script
Only meant for fools
Nov 21, 2009
Nov 21, 2009 at 11:22 PM UTC
Pray for me,
God knows I need your prayers.
Amen.
Wish better on me,
God knows I'm beat down by naysayers.
Amen.
Eyes and hearts so vacant,
Starlet-smile empty shells.
Amen.
Easy words, complacent.
Open lips and full-up hells.
Amen.
Amen.
God is love, take me to church.
He knows I need something in my heart.
Hallelujah.
Accept me, catch me in this downward lurch.
God save the poor broken thing, this heart.
Hallelujah.
God is light, take me to church,
Darkness never scared me this much.
Hallelujah.
Please, don't hurt me, aide this search.
I can't think over the loudness, it's too much.
Hallelujah.
Hallelujah.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 10:00 PM UTC
starlet of the silver screen
crafted herself to display the power of her beauty
and practiced in the art of visual seductions
she desires to be intoxicating
to move men to noble heights without saying a word
to ****** the hearts of men with just a smile
to be center stage in the brilliant light of adulation
her craft allows her to be anyone she wants
princess or pauper
a master of her craft she is every man's dream
she is true beauty
at the height of her career
a hollywood starlet
an american goddess
the love affair daydream of every fanboy
i look into those velvet eyes
and see all that ever could have been
all things ever desired
she's a starlet of the silver screen
woman boldly striking a seductive pose
assured and strong
true beauty
american goddess
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:03 AM UTC
Waiting my turn to pay
For the items we need today;
The beans and the chili
And some picklelilli
And costly imported pate.
A headline that says glaringly
What some starlet does daringly.
What I see before my eyes
A big edition full of lies
They put here to tempt me daringly.
Where childbirth oddities
Are viewed as commodities
To put onto the front page
Soon, to become all the rage.
And two headed goats
Get the kind of public note
That should be reserved
For something more deserved.
We all know these stories
Are anecdotal glories
Made up by the magazines;
The tawdriest ever seen
And they don’t mind getting gory.
It’s yellow journalism
A sort of print format ****
Intended for the kind of fool
Who never finished school
And falls for jingoism.
Where childbirth oddities
Are views as commodities
To put onto the front page
Soon, to become all the rage.
And two headed goats
Get the kind of public note
That should be reserved
For something more deserved.
Brent Kincaid
4/18/2015
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:19 PM UTC
Sometimes,
I imagine I'm some
mourning starlet
who sings Lana Del Rey
at the club
every Saturday night.
A honeyed halo of stage light
tangles itself about
the curled labyrinth
of my hair,
sparkles gold against
my tearing irises.
My mouth parts
and the war cries begin.
In the moments that
the melody offers
my voice repose,
I pound shots to the beat
of the drummer's ramblings.
The crowd applauds
my tipsiness,
their hoots of praise
shaking at the depths
of my eardrums
like an intoxicated tambourine.
My neuroticism
fascinates these people,
I think.
Not in an
exploitive,
let's-glamourize-depression
kind of way,
but in an
it is a truth universally acknowledged
kind of way--in a
******* cuz I've been there too"
kind of way.
See,
within my little,
concocted fantasy
of stage light
and music
and *****
the people don't judge me
the way they do
on the outside.
Here,
I am not
melodramatic or
overly sensitive or
disposable.
Here,
my war cries sound
a little less
like death and
a little more
like poetry.
Here,
they love me
in spite of the sadness.
Here,
we share a song--
here,
they sing with me.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 11:24 PM UTC
17 years later I still see her face.
I see her in the glamorous moue of some random starlet,
I see her in the tilt of the nose of the checkout girl.
I see her in the curve of the cheek, the bend of the elbow, the small of some strangers back.
I barely remember her, it was so long ago.
I have been without much longer than with, but she still haunts me.
everyday.
I see her face in the mirror and I understand
why my stepmother hated me.
it's alright,
its all tight its all ok.
What would she think of the woman I have become?
Would we be friends?
Would we be at odds?
Even after all the choices I made,
the hearts and laws I have broken,
would she still love me?
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 6:43 AM UTC
while the lady in the ballroom
hikes up her sparkly dress
and tosses a drink in the face of her lover
and the prince has his eye on a
slim, red little starlet who tosses
his head back with laughter and cunning
the little mouse darts between their feet
learning more about patience, courage,
and forgiveness than
the owners of the shoes will ever
ever know.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 4:24 AM UTC
Beauty queens on the Hollywood scene
Plastic surgery before the age of fifteen
Striving to look like somebody else
Not happy with life nor even themselves
Riding 'round Beverly hill with Porsches, and Mercedes too
Strutting their stuff with brand new Jimmy Choos
Tiny lap dogs wearing diamond studded collars
Designer clothes costing many a pretty dollar
Watching the sun set over Beverly Hills
As the man on the corner passes out ****** pills
Life is unreal on both sides of the ditch
No matter how much you have, life's still a *****
And as you inhale the intoxicating clean air
Think: your vault might empty, and quickly be bare
But you'll still have family and friends and old fashioned love
(Though to be honest, you're never as free as The Dove)
The dove that flew off so long ago
Leaving the filth of it all far down below
In search of brighter days and bluer skies
Leaving Hollywood to deal with their own web of lies
This dove we speak of, he was truly free
Flew away so he could find his own special tree
No more worries of blank eyed starlet's destruction
No more worries of the wicked red-eyed Hollywood corruption
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 11:08 AM UTC
as soon as she sees it she wants it is entitled to it while she is stealing it she begins elaborate lie everybody knows if she truly wants it she has means everybody knows she is gorgeous movie actress celebrity starlet awesome accessory genius she convinces herself she did not steal it the darling delicate chain with finely crafted handcuff clasp and accompanying key she wears it effortlessly just another imperial trifle hanging around her exquisite throat she has no idea how it got there she may have a drug problem a little dizzy even careless but she is no thief what with her magnificent beauty idyllic body prominent discography why would anyone accuse her she is submerged in deep denial why with so much to lose and absolutely nothing but tiny shimmering embellishment to gain why do tell would anyone point a finger at her she probably wasn’t even ever there at that dicey store she never tried on the astronomically overpriced bling it may have been her dodgy handlers or stylist’s suspect mismanagement and subsequent loan hypothesis she is positively not a thief it’s too insignificant an item to squabble about a mere gold necklace the whole incident ridiculously overblown cruel in fact she hates the miserable paltry piece of jewelry here take it back she insists it never graced her illustrious neck if anything perhaps a cheap ploy by Venice Beach shop to enhance it’s value oh the genuine necklace that she stole
Feb 9, 2011
Feb 9, 2011 at 12:12 PM UTC
I know your secret,
And what rots deep within,
Yo can't act like yo perfect,
At least not to me,
I know your secret,
All those sweet little lies,
You just a big glorious wreck,
At least that's what's inside,
See I know your secret,
Let's say I don't talk,
But that's only for the best,
So that you can keep your facade fame-walk,
Darling, I know your secret,
Don't play dumb with me,
I'll let God reveal it,
Coz my plate is already filled with sin,
I know your secret,
It doesn't matter what other see,
I've seem how ugly it gets,
And that trauma forever sticks,
I know your secret,
One you keep behind closed doors,
Its not ****** but,
Its nasty on its own,
I know your secret,
What landed close to home,
I've seen the mess,
The one yo covered with _clothes_,
I know your secret,
I was there when it happened,
I was one of your witness,
And in my mind the reply never ended,
I know your secret,
Behind that sly devil's smile,
And now I know your weakness,
Too bad to me you can't lie,
I know your secret,
I know your darkest corners,
I know you're running and,
I know what binds you together,
Oh, yes. I know that secret,
The one that got you running to church,
It'll come as a heart break,
To those that respect you much,
I know your secret,
I know what rots beneath your skin,
Baby go play a "starlet",
But just know...
You have a devil within!
Feb 2, 2017
Feb 2, 2017 at 11:53 AM UTC
You are the bloom of the
starlet sea flower and when
I swim down to smell you
I drown and drown and drown;
I would swallow the ocean
just to feel your petals
rise towards my face
and kiss me goodbye.
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
To treat a bruised parrot
on the shoulder of Sandalphon
a starlet. Being
squired for aseen parrot
was naught something
next to me. It screemed
constantly,... "Just let it in."
Do parrots think possibly
to much annoying.
To teach a parrot
use oil, place it on every
feather every wing.
and then ask it to
write, like some thing
it can read. If a parrot
reeds a child does it know
what to mean. Does it add
surepititiously to the being,
any virtue, any thing.
Do doubt the parrot
if it can not sing!
Jul 1, 2014
Jul 1, 2014 at 10:50 PM UTC
John and Eric
had gone to New Orleans
to get drunk,
so when they saw the girl
hanging over the railing
of the balcony
pulling her shirt
up and down
up and down,
they hurled beads at her
aiming for the top of her head
so that they'd
circle the drain of her neck
in a circling, shimmering starlet
down
her shoulders.
"Come down here," John yelled.
The girl pulled down her halter-top
one more time,
exposing two
globes of bouncing flesh.
Thinking he had said,
"Pull them down."
It was so loud and everyone was whistling
and there wasn't just a single color of light;
the aura from the club
was a nebula of parti-colored flashing.
later that night
she did come down.
She bumped in between John and Eric
as they navigated her through the crowd
trying their hardest to keep her
from falling over and puking,
while trying to do the same
for themselves.
She hung to them like they were long singular beams of steel.
When she rolled her head around at them
she remembered that they looked
hard and unknown.
And while holding her
in the crooks of their arms,
they maneuvered the flesh in their jeans
with their free hands,
trying to subdue the worlds
rising out of their pants
like volcanoes.
They got her back to the hotel.
A small room
with a tiny old bed, with flower-print
comforters and
an antique dresser with swirling
sculptured wood at its corners.
John slipped off his black leather jacket
and shook his mop of
curly black hair.
Eric plopped onto the bed,
pulling her with him.
She felt him pull,
she felt the gravity of him;
the warp as she bumped against
the bed.
"You guys should come back next year."
"Maybe," Eric said.
She didn't know if she was here or not.
If she'd been here the whole night
or if she was dreaming.
But she felt something physical
on her body.
Eric sat in the corner--
beside the humming a/c
as it vacuumed out the room--
watching with lifeless eyes.
It moved across her stomach.
Slow and continuous.
It moved down to her
pelvis,
slow and continuous.
It reached inside of her
slow and continuous,
and she felt the vacuum of space.
John and Eric
tag-teamed her.
Eric
taking her mouth
and working it around his *****
saying
"Come on baby,
****
John pushing against her
his glowing body
making a slapping noise
as he struggled
with his hands under her stomach
making hard dimples of flesh
on her mid-section
as he tried to hold up
her limp body.
"She's out cold,"
he said.
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 10:50 AM UTC
They Say,
Money is a matter of functions four,
A medium, a measure
A standard, a store.
I say,
It's a matter of hope, greed and despair,
It can make people fall in love and still be the reason for endless wars.
Money creates scars,
No matter how many pages you turn, it never gonna end, like the pages of a billionaire's memoir.
With money, you can get into a bar,
Can buy a car, may be a Landrover or Jaguar,
But who gonna heal that heart,
Whose tears can feel a reservoir.
With money, you can still have an affair,
With a starlet, if lucky may be a superstar,
But that innocent would never ever gonna come back to repair, your soul's scars.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 2:20 AM UTC
dark lung coughs
up all the reasons he should cease
going on with the charade of normality
its mental noodling fools few
and only confirms for everyone
that his nervous smile
contains more than just dark thoughts
he waits the morning out and with a
greasy eye watches clean woman smile
her full figure form fit lie
suits her fly by night nature
but to him she is the perfection
of absolute imperfections
she is practiced in thouse airs
shes follows Hollywood's nightmare's
and how they have become so accessible and acceptable
the movie starlet high on coke shoplifts
so the faithful flock in tears to the courthouse gate
and weep for their martyr princess
dark lung and his near perfect
knockoff Gucci bag girlfriend
are shopping tonight online
with backwards glances they will go on
survive this day
and look back on this summer with rose color glasses
giving casual nods to to
the ease in which they survived
the struggle
the are expecting a baby
dark lung and near perfect
are expecting a baby
gonna name him Elijah
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:10 AM UTC
I'm heaving prose at you and you don't even know it. Like fish jumping into a boat that's empty. Having risen before, being brave would seem easier, lighter maybe. Like great fluff or a fugue of an earthy red wine. My tear ducts are hollow drums, if I could I'd give you a metaphor about weeping, but I'm wept out and worn out. I'm not tired or worn down. I'm an obelisk, or a saber perhaps. I'm good coffee from a specialty roaster, but I come in a to go cup. Coffee should never be consumed from a to go cup.
You're one of those pennies people pay one dollar and one cent for, stretched out with new print on them. At the zoo they can be bought. At places where the middle class can be classless they can be bought.
You were once a starlet. A golden and imperfect deity. I'm still worshipping you. You're my startling ****** but the rigging is busted. Now I'm onto acid washes and back on ivory. Maybe you didn't mean to leave cue cards and question marks like keepsake memories under our bedroom duvet.
I'm only asking for you.
While I **** around each new city in the jargon of a Calder sculpture. I've punched door mice and killed rattle snakes with the heel of my foot. Step on with the right and bring your fingers to your lips. I've been calling good luck for decades now. Julys Septembers and Novembers too.
Just a regular guy with a big ******* rooster.
Some girl said we're swimming for each other in the dark, but I know your eyes have adjusted to the light. Don't compensate for ordinary experiences. Realize what I realize and taste the snow.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 2:25 AM UTC
I used to be hidden in my room
choking at my mouth's roof
as if stuck within a stutter,
exhausted from existing, hinging
like a wind-chime battered by a hurricane.
Then a troubadour with honey hair
had me humming to his ear-worm
of a melody, depicting a choreography
that jolted my legs into frenetic mania
like an early talkie starlet's.
For years, I have memorized
this intricate chord structure,
immersed myself in its crescendos
until I could belt it backwards.
It's the only song I know by heart.
There is this one tune, though,
if you can even call it that,
this atonal reverberation that alerts
the darkest corners of my mind,
a slowly muttered siren song
leading to lands I never want to visit.
I can never fully decipher
the lyrics to an entire verse.
It's the excerpts, scattered
like dust mites in a concert hall,
that try to nibble at me piecemeal,
romanticizing the revolving door
of self-destruction, bruises
veiled as smudged calligraphy.
So please excuse the minor notes
that hiccup from my vocal cords
every other half moon or so.
It's just the ebb and flow
of awkward drumming
that disorients the ear,
causes me to trip up
on the patchwork of refrains
we've spent so much time weaving
into heavenly cohesion.
Above all, please remember
that no static or din
will ever shoehorn its way
into our ironclad harmony.
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 3:53 PM UTC
Here is something sweeter,
Like a glass of fine wine
Something never bitter
With a taste truly divine
Wrapped in sweet white;
A color of sparkling scarlet;
And a scent that brings excite
Presented only to my starlet
That is my sweetest addiction.
Something I will call dandy
Something I can say with conviction
Something that is called: candy.
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 10:19 PM UTC
He called her star angel
lulling all her demons of sins too heavy
to love herself like in ancient days.
She left wings in hell of weakness
to become loved for faces of gloom.
She trusted that if he loves her
he will go through the fire of nether worlds
in spite of defeats and tears
and sacrifce his life to ****** her wings
from big and little devils
lightning perpetual candle of future days
after sundown of her fragilities
to tear her off shackles of human smallness
making faint the ingidence of her soul
loving her like paridise bird the sun.
Falling to the ground like a shooting star
she became his inexpressible wish.
He travelled to the corner of the world
to catch her in his hands
and make her safe in their Eden
full of bliss, peace and delight.
The way was indicated to him by God
with map written for their hearts.
It was destined day and destined time
meticulously planned in scriptures of Universe.
She knew she had to fall from sky
to shine on his lands closer
because sometimes stars shine brighter
in heavens ment to exist only on earth.
Art is not shining in the midst of millions
to everyone and anyone.
Art is one star worth of wars of heart
for earliest and eternal love
falling from sky once in light years.
She fell to burn in him
the light of his own soul
to guide and heal her
to ignite in her pureness of child.
He was God for her and her absolution,
the only skies where she could glow timlessly
for two lips, two hearts and bodies
but one soul.
She almost fell at his feet
to irreversibly unite them in one flame
giving birth to Universe
with Earth for starcatcher
and Heavens for his starlet goddess.
He existed only for her,
and she just for him.
They knew that earth
is a mirror of the sky.
Oct 19, 2015
Oct 19, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
One night as I roamed soft about
I chanced upon a tiny shout.
Then when I looked down on the ground
Was careful not to make a sound
In shocked awe my dark adjusted eyes
Saw fairies fight spiders under starlet skies.
Using sticks as spears they attacked their prey
Trapping spiders away from light of day.
As I stared in wonder I heard a voice
"When battle is over, help us rejoice."
It was not a sight I'd want to see
My first instinct was to turn and flee.
Spiders hunt fairies like flies for food,
You see them on webs dried up and chewed.
Fairies hunt spiders for food and skins,
Providing food and clothes for kith and kin.
At long last the fearsome spider lost his fight
And was quickly taken away from my sight.
The fairies took their prize with glee,
"Spiders on the menu for tea."
Almost at once a banquet appeared,
I ate food so sweet my plate was cleared.
With my stomach full, my eyes grew heavy,
And enchanted sleep soon overwhelmed me.
I saw beauty and grace, some horror as well,
As I was held there as if in a spell.
I awoke in a field, with no-one nearby,
And watched as a spider devoured a fly.
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
Gabrielle Union wore a gorgeous fall look in New York City while promoting her show, Being Mary Jane, on Tuesday.
The 42-year-old looked like a vision in her fitted white Sophia Kah dress with crimson lace overlay, as she was spotted leaving Live With Kelly and Michael.
The short-sleeved frock featured intricate detailing on the upper portion, while the bottom half was all white.
The skintight dress, which showed off the Think Like a Man star's amazing body, fit her like a glove.
The pop of color from the wine-colored lace added a bold touch to an otherwise minimal look.
The Bring It On actress kept the bold vibes going by choosing shiny gold heels, which added a new dimension to the look.
She added gold rings to compliment her similarly hued strappy heels with gray polished nails.
The Being Mary Jane star wore her shoulder length dark hair loose and wavy.
Opting for a more vampy makeup look, the starlet wore smokey eye shadow, glossy red lips and rosy cheeks.
During her appearance on the morning show, the She's All That actress wore a more understated look, rocking gray slacks, a black top and bright pink heels as she spoke to Michael Strahan and guest host Ciara, who filled in for Kelly Ripa.
The brunette is married to NBA star Dwayne Wade, who plays for the Miami Heat. The couple first met in 2009 and married in August 2014.
Her husband has three sons: 13-year-old Zaire Blessing Dwayne, eight-year-old Zion Malachi Airamis and two-year-old Xavier Zechariah, from previous relationships.
The 33-year-old athlete also raises his 13-year-old nephew Dahveon.
On her show, she plays the character Mary Jane Paul, an on-camera reporter who has to juggle work, love and family.
The third season of Being Mary Jane premieres on October 20th on BET.
The starlet is also currently filming The Lion Guard, an animated TV series where she voices the character of Nala, set to premiere on the Disney Channel in 2016. She recently wrapped The Lion Guard: Return of the Roar TV movie, which premieres this November.
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Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 2:18 AM UTC