Her skin glows with an enchanting color of a gem's emerald green dazzle and she moves effortless around the room. Her long soft curls highlighted with deep sage wisps beautiful around her perfect face as her beauty is unforgetable. She isn't the hostess of this party yet she demands attention from every little thing happening around her.
For those who are more brazen and who crave her confidence will be searching for intriging ways to grab her smart focus. Some willing to spend all of their treasures on her, for her, to be just like her. Even trying to give her gifts of themselves, an expensive family heirloom, a watch off a wrist, an earring out of their ear and the brillant bands and blings of diamonds off their necks and fingers--only for her to pocket the items in her hunter green glittered gown, that will never be enough to warrent her time to be spent with you.
Though it seems clear to me, happy in my own skin, proud of what I have become and how well I have weathered life's storms, she can't seem to stay away. Her fungus green finger nails scratch at me to listen to her bland story of being better to be the best. Her alage tinted tongue interupt my converstation making her look needy in front of my guests. Her moldy green breath on the back of my neck makes me excuse myself from her exhausting attempts to win me over. I leave Envia in the corner of the dance floor alone and beaten.
It's just a matter of time before her slim green slippers are lost and her eel-driven carriage drags her back into her unfortunate place of never being satisifed and longing for the courage to be her own true self.
For my next time get together, I hope her invation gets lost in the mail.
Stars Don’t Blink
Stars placed in the night, aren't there to blink
They’re lit up dim or bright, never meant to sink
Some hold wishes, mine holds silver writer’s ink.
It's the human eye that's to blame, blinking them gone
Lashed disapearing shuts and opens controling their pawn
Timed by nature, stars remain only to be unseen at dawn.
I’m A Coccyx
The tailbone, considered vestigial, which means no longer necessary. Like wisdom teeth, they're pulled nowadays. I serve purposes and perform functions, I am not no longer necessary. Trying sitting without me, try relaxing comfortable without me, try distrubuting your weight without me, try to balance and try to be stable without me. I also can help you move, I help you walk, run and let's not forget, I can help you dance.
Have you ever hit a bump and landed on your butt or fallen behind, I am there for you, unless you'd rather land on your spine bottom. That sounds paralizingly awful.
Don't abuse me either. Take care of me. Use a pillow, cushioned and padded seats, don't stay on a bike or horse for too long, take breaks from sitting and walk around, stretch your body, don't lean on me so much. I can be a real pain in the butt.
The emotion of being walked on;
like a door mat, not on tipped toes.
The drama of being pushed to the curb; like trash, not being escorted or strolled politely or lovingly.
The underwhelment of being someone who's feelings, opinions, dreams, goals, efforts, time, money and existance just don't matter to other people; never being valued or thought about; being ignored and neglected--only up until you are needed to make someone's life easier and more fun.
An open door in life to be made a fool of or a joke; not in a silly or light-hearted way;
But more of a critical, mean-spirtied, bullish, demeaning and judgmental way.
you breath. you exhale.
you learn. you try.
you smile. you frown.
you thrive or die trying.
Green with envy
I'm wickedly presistant and can plant roots of doubt and unkindness.
I twist and turn with greedy wants that push and pull just to manipulate.
I find the deepest dullest discomfort and contort it until it creates a near death pain.
I make you feel uglier, dumber, dimmer, worthless and quite insane.
I take your talents and strengths and wipe them away with fear and intimadation.
I make you crave everything you can't have while I drain every desire you wished for.
I smile proudly as tears sting your eyes and blur real life and make you see things slanted.
I'm jaded and marbled, mossy with sour spreading from my garden, streaked with rotting nature and toxic organic cruelity in my veins and vines of dispear and mistrust. I am green with envy and I can grow best in your shadiest shade, hidden in your unsettled forest and in every blade of grass crushed under your heaviness.
Snow flakes softly landing on frozen winter glass.
Lightening flash bright in a mid-summer night storm.
Fuzzy sweater held tight against the fall wild winds.
Petals of a small growing spring flower in a grassy field.
Ready! Set! Action!
I am the same age as Marilyn Monroe when she passed away and I sometimes dream of being a First Lady of the United States. I have the same birth day and month as Halle Berry and can relate to her charactor in Gothika as if the film was created from true events from my first marriage, God Bless Douglas' soul. I was Prom Queen my senior year in highschool which had a Steven King theme. My mother was in "Misery" when I threw red rust colored paint on my prom dress she paid over $499 dollars for. She turned into a real Mommy Dearest. I am looking for some to be "In the Line of Fire," because "Gentleman Prefer Blondes." I could do without "The Seven Year Itch" and absolutely "NO WIRE HANGERS!" I want to be your "CatWoman" and purrrrrrr while we role-play "Kidnap" and "A Perfect Stranger." Are you my Prom King? Could you like a quiet telepathic girl who likes to light things on fire cause "Some Like It Hot"? Could you see yourself having "Children of the Corn" with a movie star type walking "The Green Mile" until the end of time? All auditions must bring a copy of their head shot and resume and popcorn on the salty side.
A few Lies and an Honest Goodbye
“So I don’t hurt your sensitive feelings, cry baby," I shout.
"I’m not doing anything wrong,” I wince in a small amount of guilt.
“I’m sorry if you're so messed up that you can’t believe the truth when you hear it,” I sneer.
“Get over it. I’m sick and tired of you. Get on with your pathetic life and leave me alone,” I plead.
She shares, “sorry for ever doubting you.”
"She lied right to my face. She's dishonest and deceitful," I tell myself in the mirror right after she left Sunday morning with her banged up heavy luggage.
She's not coming back
Her luggage is packed.
She's ready to leave
It's hard to believe.
I shouldn't have lied
forced her love to die.
She's on her way out
as I really pout.
She couldn't care less
I scream my confess.
She's through and she's done
I don't feel I've won.
She's not coming back
I fade away black.