I live my life
selecting images
to represent me
I choose the best
hair I can manage
the best clothing
I strive to fit in
with the population
If I could
I would choose my voice
my atmosphere
but all these choices
make contentment
hard to reach.
It was cold
I remember walking in alone
While everyone else in numbers
Beep beep beep
My number called
I breathed in deeply
Closing my eyes
Before walking in
A knife under my neck
I could feel the tears welling
But not one escaped
I walked out
Wearing a smile
And no one knew I was hurting
More at https://sfondato.blogspot.com.
I’m a certain
red-headed species
of human
who wishes she
looked good
in hats
whose hair
is not a natural
color
whose smile
is not a
natural smile.
In steamy mists
aromatic seeds
burst upon her skin,
confetti her shoulders,
frisk her slackened thighs,
while on the shower floor,
those manicured feet
are liberally anointed
with sesame oil.
Haze lifts as she rinses away
creamy lathers before
stepping out into the opulence
of a warm white wrap.
When she vigorously
rubs all moisture
to a powdery dryness
the room shudders.
It is enough. Time now for unction,
a healing sprawl of chamomile,
arnica, horse chestnut on her chin,
her throat, her arms, her legs,
her heart and down the lax arc
of her stomach, to hips,
knees, ankles and toes.
Later, she rides off in her chariot
with her new self,
her cool blue SUV
dispensing grunge in its wake.
She is modern, all woman, in control.
She selects princes and they turn into frogs.
More at http://mariemacsweeney.com.
My name
is something nicer
than what I actually
am
call me the pleasant
words
instead of calling me
out on my reality.
To dress up a lie; one must never forget Mr. Mac and Cover Girl shades to mask them big black beautiful eyes! Not to worry tough…them skin tight britches hides your children(S) name(S) as known as ‘THE’ STRETCH MARK STITCHES (from sea to shining seas). The red lipstick shades over ALL the men(S) you’ve been kissing. The cleavage showing; mask the breast loads of sorrows and the entire NOT sew knowing nothing… that your garments harbor. The 8-inch stilettos heighten the lies from 4 foot 2, to the 6 ft. 9 plain-view disguise. Dressed to kill…Ain’t a hard pill to swallow when the apparel is rented, stolen; let loaned borrowed. Go-on girl-strike a pose…awe yeah-SNAP! Naw 2-snaps!! Vogue knows. Vogue, sho nuff knows her designer’s lying one of a kind$. Baby you got swag. Do you have one in my size? Size 2. I swear (pinky crossed-but imma try it on for size anyhow-An’ squeeze into it too…LOL)! Just sayin; just sayin…Awe shucks I ain’t playin!! But… I too wanna hide my futuristic lies. And from where I sit…the Red Carpet knows just what to do to change a cunning size 9 into a voluptuous size 2.
And the “BEST DRESS” award goes to:
Drum(mond) roll please………………………………………
None other than……………………………………………….
YOU!
Dedicated to: PLEASE RSVP @ (412) Per-fect.
Date: November 16, 3017
Time: 12:00 MidLight
Place: Back to the future
Adults only.
—–
A RocDeeRay Poem
A title that covers
a number of sins.
Never mind if he cheats
and eats people alive.
Good family, good guy.
He’s a hitter, a quitter,
a beater.
But never mind.
Good guy.