"styling" poems
Slipping stocking on silky smooth legs.
Wanting and yearning to turn people's heads.
Dressing up nice in a posh frock.
Knowing people will judge, people will mock.
Applying makeup like a pro,
But needing to keep the status quo.
Styling a wig to look like a girl.
Feeling the butterflies, head in a whirl.
Looking deep at the eyes reflected in the mirror.
Where is the man? can just see a glimmer.
Feeling for a moment that he does belong.
Takes a deep breath, tries to stay strong.
Feeling comfortable within his own skin.
Just slightly visible, hair growth on his chin.
He will not venture out as he's branded a freak.
But really he's normal, maybe a bit weak.
For if he goes out people think he is guy.
He's just like me and you at the end of the day.
Some think he's bisexuality, it's really unfair.
He's just heterosexual with a little more flare.
All he's ever wanted, is to be accepted.
In this current decade still is rejected.
If you gave him a chance you'd see he's real nice.
His heart is so warm, not cold as ice.
He loves with his heart, is caring and tender.
Look deep within, he is only transgender.
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 5:21 PM UTC
During a walk through the hallway
of the primary school
I find hallways
filled with turkeys and leafs and stiff scrawled characters.
What is Mr. Smith's class thankful for?
Flowers and toys and cars and dresses and pink and purple and soccer and skirts and barbies and family.
How could you sum up all of the things you are thankful for in one word?
At the end of the hallway I am faced with a choice:
*What are you thankful for?*
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What am I thankful for?
Happiness, and family and security and nature and
friends.
I am thankful for friends.
I am thankful for laughs and chatts and cries and sobs and games and smiles.
I am thanful for ****** contortions and 80s dance sessions,
for inabilty to speak.
I am thankful for hobos, eating on the side of the road,
and for devious scheymes of intoxicatation.
Hep beni anlayan bir arkadaşım var müteşekkirim
and who listens to my sob stories.
I am thankful for singing in the rain.
And styling hair in the sink
for screeching and howling
and hissing.
I am thankful for obkirchergasses,
for Ströcks and for ice cream plarlours.
I am thankful for mentos,
and walnuts.
I am thankful for bad lip readings and hilarious youtube vidoes.
I am thankful for unknown languages and nymphs
and for eloquence.
I am thankful for good taste in music
and for strong opinions.
I am thankful for dancing indian pirates with demon chicks and fireballs.
I am thankful for two-headed teenagers and barbeques.
I am thankful for God and healthy choice prayers,
and Hawaii get aways.
I am thankful for huge, hanging sweaters and crazy, funky leggings.
I am thankful for deep talks about the world's lack of beauty
and for poetry buddies.
I am thankful for dodgeball playing mice,
and poor old wenches.
I am thankful for pirate and mermaid adventures.
I am thankful for the looks we get:
looks of loud disapproval,
and whispers of quiet exasperation.
I am thankful for golden men and loud singing,
for crazy dances with crazy cousins and cute brothers.
I am thankful for Aunt Jemima.
I am thankful for banging on metal bars with rocks and shouting at the top of our lungs.
I am thankful for climbing over gates in order to not step on cracks.
I am thankful for amazing humanities teachers.
I am thankful for a laugh when the day is over.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
How those kids manage to fit all of their thankfulness into one word is beyond me.
Even the one-word things we are thankful for, must be described with a million words.
Nov 22, 2012
Nov 22, 2012 at 7:42 AM UTC
You seeing me rapping will never happen
Before that I’ll start cappin
Walk off like nothing happened
Since I’ve mastered this art of war
I tend to take things too far
Don’t give a **** who you think you are
Your rap handle doesn’t exist anymore
My rhythms galore, your rhythms manure
Best left in a bag
On your steps
At your front door
Hottest your rap crap will ever get
I’m so polished this is a blemish not a scrimmage
I treat you little *******
Like a teacher’s pet
Up against a Vietnam war vet
Giving you your first shoots
Flipping the script
Double barrel twelve gauge extended clip
Special grip pressed against your lip
Having a hard time talking ****
A pistol whip left your tooth chipped
Fake rappers rapping hard
No street creed; they ain’t legit
This wack imitation ****
Got me ****** off
Don’t get me started
you rip offs should get lost at all cost
dealing with a real boss I can handle a loss
Testing me lyrically, you must be previously ********
Now you are dearly departed
I’m styling on you I’m wilding
Bloodline of Goliath
So go ahead start a riot
With my mic on autopilot
You can get chewed like trident
Eating wack MC’s
essential part of my diet
this ain’t even a battle verse
it’s a gift and a curse
running its course
on my high horse
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
~and for Harlan, who loved this one best~
*"for tandem is the ever-changing, graying color of their fierce attached tenacity"
waking/walking in
careful pacing regular lock steps,
like new cadets, counting cadence,
in perfect silent, almost motionless,
except for the minuscule quivering of
slightly parted moving lips
these two elders,
still now plebes,
freshmen
but of a latter, graduated stage,
demonstrating robustly
the slow shuffle-along,
a well practiced dance conjured
'in tandem'
her arm, crooked in his,
his other hand,
in protective custody of a
knight's armored chain glove
encasing hers,
he, shuffling just,
a precise, intended half-a-beat slower
lest she ever think
that she, ever be a drag upon him
hair, his,
threaded with daily,
new arriving grays,
proudly accepted
as the privilege of
graceful aging
hers,
disguised with periodic outings,
outings for the hidings of life's bookmarks,
conceding nothing ever to
time's lunatic desire to separate them
modest in dress,
styling hints of pasts' elegant,
the man's hat defiant,
daringly jaunty angled,
a small scarf to handbag knotted,
matching his Windsor knotted tie
the passers-by, all smile,
the signal charm of an
end game processional,
thinking so sweet,
yet mine eyes detect more,
something
hardy and radical
a fierce, fierce fierceness,
both fighters in the resistance,
armed with tandem tenacity,
ground given,
but only inches surrendered,
wounds resisted by
scar skin toughened
by the caress of ions bonding
under the pressure
of atomic level mutuality
worn out,
well past Purple Hearts,
no capitulation feared,
to the ever changing,
enemies' new disguises,
they,
a two person platoon,
each,
having the other's back
and I burst into tears on the street,
a train of out loud moans,
even groans emitted,
like a string of perfect pearls
breaking,
clattering on an asphalt terrain
weeping
not
from visions of the inevitable,
sighing
not
from the certitude of a
cycle's uptime ending*
but jealous furious by this reminder delightful,
angry at myself, for having lost so many wasted years,
mine, the loss greatest, for absent was the
fierce tenacity of tandem
Mar 6, 2017
Mar 6, 2017 at 8:41 PM UTC
Respect
for the mother and fathers who build this playground for us to roam ,
respect for the floating flowers sweet seed sprouting into blossoms tree
respect for the love of self - selflessly
respect for the helpers helplessly
respect for the boundaries
rises climatic waves crash onto soft shore
breakfast on the patio
what could one ask for more
then a wake up call without using a phone
last night's revelries spill over into today's serenity
sacred ground
sacred sounds
early bird gets the worm they say
share the love
spread the love , doctors healers
love knows no bounds
but seeks to reach each tip of wing in illuminated golden heart seen on first meeting
glows the fireflies
who light up the night time so bright
nor the wonderlusting princesses moving in her own skin with so much filling to the brim
overspilling with kisses and loves
spilt beers and american dreams turn to dust on the desert plains
and the silken haze hangs low across the city
bike riding race styling high flying
we already die to live to give
we already sing to the silent tunes of water droplets
and bird calls
tree's sigh in daylight delight and fight no one, not even the night for ...
the tree's photosynthesise by moonlight
leaves drink in the cool wise light and give off dreams of softly fading starlight
and laughing at Jamican tour guides....exucse me while i light my spliff....har har har har.....and over here is the kitchen...
Aug 17, 2013
Aug 17, 2013 at 2:11 AM UTC
let's go back to basics
i'll punch you in the face
i'll rip out your hair and eyes and teeth and use them as jewelry around my sleeve
oh how much i love you! every part of yourself you've given me! your brown eyes and bleached teeth - you make me look so chic!
i don't care that your veins and enamel and sticky hair styling products are ruining all my long-sleeved clothes
i'd rather wear you now and save my expensive jewelry for more formal and important events -
my heart's made of gold
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
For some reason I can’t fathom I’m constantly alone,
as there are never any men calling me up on the phone.
I’m not sure why this is, but there must be some reason,
why there is such an absence of men in my life, season after season.
I guess it could be the fact that I have a lot of friends,
except they’re all cats and apparently that’s not “in.”
I don’t really understand it, we get along quite well,
and I know that all my cats do think I’m absolutely swell.
And yet my dates don’t usually last any later than six,
which could have something to do with all my cool cat pics.
Apparently guys think it’s “weird” when you show them all that stuff,
they’d rather see pictures of **** girls in the buff.
So when I present men instead with a styling, western-wear cat,
they are less than impressed, and that’s the end of that.
You’d think I would learn, but I never do,
so I’ll sit alone forever, just me and my cat crew.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 11:48 AM UTC
The struggle is real
So I've been told
The homie told me yesterday
Licks had to be made
eating with our enemies
sleeping with the Devil
But, Expect them not to be evil
Broke ***** on the strip
Gay Brothas Suckin ****
**** ***** licking *****
***** is you really gay
Or need a sponsor for your ******* kid
Now tell me aint that some ****
Everybody wanna be sucka free
so we say the sweet lovers just thirsty
the dog nighas Got flex game see
Pipe it up , Shut it down, Light it up
Smoking loud in big crowds
Crazy girls and wild ******
Broke ******* styling and profiling
Living in hotels and wiling
For that dolla , she'll let you holla , hit and even spit
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 3:49 PM UTC
i grab my brush,
styling my hair,
"you have to look your best darling."
my hands shake as i dust
the porcelain powder over my nose,
"you have to be well groomed,"
as steady as i can,
i line my lips with amber red, shade 204.
but my hand slips,
and the red mark in on my cheek.
'why wont you take care of yourself!? its as if you dont care!"
line my lips.
brush my hair.
apply mascara.
no mistakes.
*"you have to look your best."*
each day i put on my mask,
i was taught to do so young.
as long as i look good,
what else matters..
right?
Jan 1, 2015
Jan 1, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, why does it seem like we abandon the other planets?:)
threatened on the nights
on the skeptic luxuries they ignite
other insecurities come to highlight
abandoning wants of dark carries that were once in hindsight
not sure if marvelous from the precious of the might hopes tied
clouds of mutual Venuses or Mercurys to collide
on backgrounds of relate of lonely to define
styling a vintage glass of polished wines
not a drink but the dime
not a dime but the inside
-------ravenfeels
Apr 22, 2021
Apr 22, 2021 at 5:48 PM UTC
in the underground ocean tunnel
a golden boy with big dreams
drives a 5 speed and despite his tight jeans
his copilot companion is side-seat driving
while he employs reckless steering-weel styling
sarcophagul stasis is most surprising an outcome
for him with his personal aversion to dying
he was in a coma overnight
suddenly eyes are open
above an apathetic white pillow
and all around him people are crying
a partial paraplegic is pledging his allegiance
in his town he's an ornament parked upon the bleachers
thirty years later most assume he was a war hero
but he was just twenty getting road dome on the way home
Jan 1, 2014
Jan 1, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
why do you go to sleep in t-shirt and no bottoms?
he asks after years of
le marred marriage age
why for modesty and as a
sign of respectful readiness,
naturally!
gazing upon me, you’ll see my x-small size,
tight bright pink v-necked t-shirt from Old Navy
making you reflect, my dear,
that this particular woman
is one confident sailor
gazing upon me, you’ll see my naked pure
intentions undoubtedly at the ready
per my
Girl Scout training,
“Be Prepared”
whenever help is needed^
making you reflect, my dear,
that this lady scout could probably
start a fire easy with just
one handy stick
and you,
‘rubber suit’ matching
my nighttime costume,
when our “couture au lingerie,”
exhibits a happy styling similarity
Jul 16, 2019
Jul 16, 2019 at 12:41 AM UTC
When we first met
I knew we were meant to be a set
A pair, a duo, a duplet
Chemistry and energy is our aura
Looking styling in our fedoras
Flirting and singing, sending off sparks of true blue
Our meeting a real coup, straight out of a mystery by Nancy Drew
You add peace and subtract sorrow
My head as clear as the sky on top of Mount Kilimanjaro
I will love you until there is no tomorrow
You are my friend, my partner, my life
I don't want any disagreement or strife
Just fun, entertainment and rife
Always and forever.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 2:03 PM UTC
I am outside a high school party with a cigarette in my hand and my sweater trailing on the ground. I belong to the night; to the teenage desperation you find right through the front door inside every single one of those boys and girls eyes. It is dark outside but I can make out everyone's faces simply by the light of cigarettes. I close my eyes for a second and inhale. I can barely make out the silhouette of the person I wish was in front of me. My eyes open. You are not here. To my left there's an alley and a short boy is throwing up the 22 shots that are tallied on his forearm. His best friend is video taping it. I don't think I'm really here. Is this the alcohol speaking? I didn't feel this attached to you 3 hours ago. My mother thinks I am at work. I don't feel bad at all. After everything I have done, lying is simple. I've become accustomed to being a lie. A boy is trying to get two girls to make out and that offends me. I'm not here. I'm not anywhere. I'm with you. I matter to you. I matter to someone. I am something.
I open my eyes.
A guy is handing me a beer, so I take it. I should be going home but that girl looks like you. There are four boys to my right free styling. One of them is actually really good. I try to weave through the people to find a familiar face. I find one, and he's handing me a bottle. I don't know what it is, but I drink. It burns.
I'm outside again sitting on the curb. The streetlight that shines above me is a dark shade of yellow that glows off every wall. It reminds me of the night. The moon is looking at me with an intensity I've never seen before. I have a text from you on my phone but I don't want to open it. I don't want to be able to feel this much. I go to find the bottle again.
I'm laughing a lot now. I found the bottle. The familiar face is laughing too. Her boyfriend broke her heart last week.
Your silhouette is standing in the corner. It's beckoning me. I open your text:
do you need something?
I close your text. I close my phone and my eyes and my arms and my heart and I throw my empty beer can at that silhouette of yours.
I'm outside again. Familiar face is going to take me home.
The cigarette is glowing orange and I'm dancing to her car.
You don't love me. I don't care.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 4:52 AM UTC
Sono sposata con un pilota e sono sicuro al 100% che non importa quanto duramente ** pregato .che non ha potuto ottenere le foto di fidanzamento questo freddo .Queste due devono avere alcune connessioni piuttosto sorprendente per avere Josh Dookhie Fotografia sparare loro sesh impegno sulla pista .Sono totalmente geloso .
Condividi questa splendida galleria
Da sposa.Una sessione day-to -tramonto impegno esclusivo sulla pista di Winnipeg James Armstrong Richardson International Airport .con scatti del suggestivo terminale vecchio prima che fosse abbattuto .
Non solo ci piace viaggiare .ma mio marito Nevin e ** incontrato all'aeroporto quando entrambi abbiamo lavorato lì.quindi era giusto che fosse l'impostazione per la nostra sessione di fidanzamento ** usato per lavorare lì abiti da sposa 2014 in Marketing durante il tempo che il nuovo edificio terminal è stato costruito.Nevin lavora ancora lì come elettricista campo d'aviazione .Ecco come siamo arrivati accesso alla possibilità piste - un quasi nessun altro sarebbe in grado di avere!Il padre di Nevin è stato anche un controllore del traffico aereo fino al suo ritiro .quindi nel complesso l'aeroporto è un posto speciale per noi e la nostra famiglia .
Nel momento in cui abbiamo fatto il servizio fotografico .il nuovo terminal aveva appena aperto ( che ha fornito una splendida cornice ) e il vestiti da sposa vecchio
terminal .dove avevamo incontrato - era stato abbattuto in un paio di settimane .E 'stato così speciale per noi essere in vestiti da sposa grado di ottenere scatti che caratterizzano sia gli edifici - il nostro passato e il nostro futuro
fotografia: Josh Dookhie Fotografia | Aeroporto : Winnipeg James Armstrong Richardson International Airport | Coordinamento + Styling : LouLou
http://www.belloabito.com/abiti-da-sposa-c-1
http://www.belloabito.com/goods.php?id=14
http://188.138.88.219/images_ld/td//t35/product_thumb/1/3803335353535_391851.jpg
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
No color but red lips and luminescent green eyes.
My hair flowed into my golden corset dress,
into my pale legs,
to my golden heels,
they weren't my favorite heels, but they were small,
and you were rather short.
The black hair
you spent hours styling
lay across your face just right.
Black, skin tight jeans hooked
to a plethora of belts, buckles and chains,
complimented by the black and blue shoes you kept
religiously clean.
A checkered, black and blue button-up
with a black and blue scarf laced carefully around your neck.
You carried a complicated satchel by your side so that I could be handsfree
You told me I looked beautiful,
as you fidgeted with the
skull ring I gave you so long ago...
Us against the world,
trailing behind the rest,
Waltzing down the city's streets
arm in arm
clutching a black umbrella
as the rain came rushing down around us.
The neon lights of New York
creating reflective neon pools along
the grungy streets.
Thunder in the distance
and lightning
snapping across the sky.
What a beautiful night,
for perfect seats at WICKED.
What a beautiful night,
for a sushi dinner.
What a beautiful night,
to forget how sick we were,
or why I was mad at you,
or why you were mad at me,
what a perfect night,
to put the umbrella down
and let the storm take over
for a memory
of a time
when we still knew each other.
What a perfect night,
to end our friendship.
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 4:14 AM UTC
Each word doesn't have to perfectly rhyme.
We herd dozens at a time,
to service the climb,
to serve as a guide.
The burdens we find are the worms
to the birds in our lines,
further
winding along, to a life of a search
is to thrive; an adventure to mine;
to sense in the back of our minds
that a fifth of our life, will be spent
getting sights realigned.
Pining for growth,
styling the spine in our notes.
Fly if we do.
Die if we don't.
Die to the wild.
Die to the child that shoots that
fire from our throats
"Why didn't I..," You'll say,
on a day you remember, the tune
of a song that you wrote, then BOOM!
Thoughts cascade.
Brought that pain to your heart
like you fought with a ghost.
Don't get lost,
but if you do,
take notes.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 8:49 AM UTC
After Aishwarya Rai Bachchan gave us some impressive red carpet outings, all eyes were on Sonam Kapoor as she made her sixth Cannes appearance in a row. And boy, she lived up to our expectations in a whimsical Ralph and Russo sari-inspired gown with half cape. Her styling was bang on with pink lips, dewy makeup and middle-parted neat tresses.
Designers give thumbs up to the actor, without a second thought. “Sonam looks spectacular. I love the dramatic outfit. I loved the fact that Sonam wore no jewellery (except for a ring) and kept her hair straight with some interesting eye makeup,” says designer Manish Malhotra.
“I love this look. It is a great example of something experimentally grand and classic at the same time. I also like the jersey in the top portion, which adds a very modern and sporty vibe to a traditional embroidered half cape sari inspired gown. There is a duality I can sense here and it has surprising familiarity in terms of a classic Balenciaga vibe,” says designer Rahul Mishra.
Designer Rina Dhaka also loves her look, but believes that subtler looks can also work the same magic . “Sonam looks gorgeous. The outfit has a lot of volume, and yet it is controlled and figure hugging. I would call her a drape crusader,” she says, adding, “However, unlike Indian actors, international actors are going for understated, simpler looks. We guys tend to take on too much embroidery, making it look theatrical. These looks are bridal by western standards. But our audiences like this.”Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-brisbane | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne
May 17, 2016
May 17, 2016 at 1:36 AM UTC
What is the definition
of a person
doing it right,
Is it easy to know
or easy to sight.
Do they understand simply
that to be right
is your own game,
you are the king
there is no one to blame.
Do they think in a way
thats peaceful towards all,
or struggle still
and hit their own walls.
Do they fight like me
with these demons raging,
holding my principles
blaming and caging.
Assumptions of innocence,
naïve they say,
but really it's just the same battle
in my mind everyday.
Who do you want to be
where is your truth,
is there a reason you hold back
am I stuck in my youth.
I see and I know
I understand and I feel
but what's right and wrong
what truth is real?
Lustful hands
bent knees and toes,
pushing and grinding
to places I don't know.
The thoughts say stop
but why? I can't explain,
the force to be in the right
holding me at a stalemate game.
Touching and kissing
heat rising,
I'm smiling.
The battle quieted
by tongues
and their styling.
Exploring,
feeling
open but restrained,
maybe when it's right
my heart wont be tamed.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
Everyday, A New Person
Stop! Lest you think,
This is some poem, of a nature serious
I warn you with supercilious contempt
This is a mischance, a contretemps,
This is a dumb poem, like Suntan Lotion^
Inspired by that silliness's Broadway success,
About how everyday, I awake,
A New Person,
With a new designer hair styling
O Yeah, I gotta grip the sink counter,
When I see how my pillow friends^^
Have revenged themselves the night prior,
Upon awakening, I contemplate suicide by pills
But more labor saving for the undertaker I usually choose
Setting One's Hair On Fire
It be awful, it be ridiculous
That my hair defies gravity
Standing straight up,
After a night of lying down,
This is the product of rocking out to the
Hardest of hard rock n' roll.
Now I am a man,
Re hair and grooming I ain't usually
Prioritizing and swooning,
But get this,
It takes a tube daily,
Of alcoholic gel,
To get my pop,
To do the 'lie flat down flop'
When my woman strokes my hair,
She doesn't think I notice,
How she subtle slides her hand down my shirted arm,
To dispose of the newly acquired kitchen grease,
I sometimes, on really bad hair days,
Need to employ to encapture my Grayed Fleece
No faking joke, my mind out strokes
When I look at what handiwork
Has worked me over,
Multi-directional, punk sensational,
I swear it also has changed colors!
No unrequited love, just requited hate
For my torqued, drugged, twisted hairy fate,
Two minutes to write this idiotic ditty,
Ten minutes to nerve to open my eyes to look twice
At what the hairie fairies mischievously hath wrought,
Is unbalanced, demand a recount, a fair fight sought
Soon it will be clear, if you think this poem amusing,
Be in readiness for an Ode to the Haircut upcoming,
Be in readiness for an opera, entitled naturally,
Get Thee To The Barber of First Avenue
As soon as I get the nerve to leave the bedroom.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 9:09 AM UTC
matrimoni tradizionali sono un fantastico modo per dare il via alla settimana .non credi ?Soprattutto un matrimonio tradizionale bella come questa vicenda Perth catturato da DeRay \u0026Simcoe .Perché questo è un matrimonio che è tutto prendere il fiato con i fiori splendidi e uno stile
di Rebecca Grazia .una cerimonia mozzafiato e attimo dopo attimo di tutti i tappi FELICI .Vedi tutto qui .
ColorsSeasonsSpringSettingsChurchEvent VenueStylesTraditional Elegance
Dal DeRay \u0026Simcoe .What a wonderful affare !Il tipo di giornata neanche un po 'di pioggia potrebbe smorzare .
Tina pianificato la sua sorprendente matrimonio di Shannon con una splendida pesca morbida e fuori schema di colore bianco .Si guardò raggiante nel suo vestiti da sposa abito abiti da sposa corti Pallas con bellissimi fiori di Rebecca Grazia .
Hanno tenuto una cerimonia tradizionale cattolica.fra cui una ***** piena in una delle chiese più belle di Perth .San Giuseppe .Abbiamo fatto le foto al Palazzo del Parlamento fino a quando il tempo era vestiti da sposa freddo e bagnato.quindi abbiamo cercato un po ' di calore in un bar contemporaneo - George .
Dopo alcuni cocktail la festa nuziale erano felici di sfidare il tempo .camminando per le strade piovose di St Georges Terrace in Perth CBD conseguente foto romantiche con un'atmosfera vecchio Hollywood .
La loro accoglienza è stata assolutamente incredibile.tenuto alto le cime degli alberi con vista sulle luci della città brillano .L'arredamento classico bianco è stato accompagnato da centinaia di candele .
Tina e Shannon erano così delizioso .prima .durante e dopo il matrimonio .siamo stati così fortunati da parte di questa magica giornata .
Fotografia : DeRay e Simcoe | Floral Design : Rebecca Grazia | Abito da sposa: Pallas Couture | Cake: Elegance Edible | Cerimonia Luogo : San Giuseppe | Banco Luogo : Centro di Accoglienza Stato Perth | Scarpe : Badgley Mischka | Anelli : Ross Ezechiele |capelli : Shane Dias | Auto : Limousine Impressionante | Sedia Covers : Touched By Angels | Trucco : Lauren legno | Banco Styling : Rebecca Grazia | Video : Inception VideoBadgley Mischka è un membro del nostro Look Book .Per ulteriori informazioni su come vengono scelti i membri .fare clic qui
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 10:09 PM UTC
A change of the hair is a change of the mind
Every single style brings you closer to find
The you that you like most or like most of the time
Plus it's fun to switch it up and imagination shines
But I hate that were judged on the style that we choose
And what's created is a hate over what they think is you
But they really don't know man I swear they'll never know
What goes on under the fro they think they know but they don't know the truth
They see you happy and they label you bad and uncouth
All because of the styling that you put on your roof
They say that he's a murderer, a hoodlum, he takes women's fruit
And I reply "do you have proof?"
John Wilkins booth had great hair
He still killed our leader
But you judge me with a blank stare
I swear this life is unfair
Society is so jacked
Accusations so whack
I wonder if as people have we gotten our freedom back
Cuz it's looking real dark for that bit of grace
Please don't make me start on what I think about this place
But I digress, just know that I'm aware
Of the problems and abuse that happens over hair
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
Where were you when you heard
First heard some legendary song?
Does it get permanently hooked
To that time in life as it went along?
When I was twelve years old
I was coming home on the bus
A car radio playing Elvis singing
That’s “All Right Mama” passed us.
Freezing my *** in a weapons plant
When I first heard “Everybody’s Talking”.
I had no money and no good car
But I almost started walking.
All the time I was driving
“Light My Fire”, was always playing
With that bridge you couldn’t ignore.
I always link going west on I-40 to
My introduction then to the Doors.
T’was almost fifty years ago today
Sergeant Pepper and his band did play.
I was working as fry cook in KC
Wishing I could afford to run away.
I heard Yes singing “Your Move”
In Hollywood on Sunset and Vine.
I had no idea who that group was
I only knew they were new and fine.
Bopping down Hollywood Boulevard
And fashionable in Frankenstein shoes
I was styling with my pleated bells
Singing “Staying Alive” as I would cruise.
Music changed for me again, for the better
With the opening of Yellow Brick Road.
Elton made that dramatic opening bit
Opposite of a country horny-backed toad.
Barbra and Donna in great duet called
Were wailing out “Enough Is Enough”.
I was thinking finding a better team
Than those two divas would be tough.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
She stood like a statue.
Perfect skin layered on a perfect body.
A ******* model.
She makes men turn their heads to look at her.
The type of woman who squeals tires.
Gorgeous *******
Stunning hair.
She stood like a statue.
She was stone.
Spent hours.
Doing make-up.
Styling hair.
Picking clothes.
Smiling her plastic teeth.
Flashing her neon sign mind.
Slogans.
She lived all of them.
She stood like a statue.
Drop dead gorgeous.
Living idol.
Men wanted her.
She was courted by them.
Money lavished upon her.
She felt she deserved it all.
Scorned her fellow women.
Ridiculed her peers.
Too good to be in their company.
She stood like a statue.
Beautiful as marble.
But utterly, totally,
completely empty inside.
Apr 13, 2016
Apr 13, 2016 at 2:17 PM UTC