Saturday, November 26, 2011

the girl with the painted smile...

today it's stoic, the line separating her full lips the center of attention
a smile simply put to maintain even cheekbones.. it's vagueness proving she's "fine"
it's a smile made for battle, ambiguously crafted to lure onlookers
practiced, calculated.. indifferent.

yesterday it was deep. dimpled and u-shaped. way too perfect to be altruistic.
that one frightened me
reminded me that i can only see what she shows. it made me helpless.
funny how fragile she becomes with that monstrous grin.
i have been in the company of the confidence and pride fueling this version
and i concur that they are large and present and functioning parts of her whole..
but still, she just appeared breakable under that heavy, shiny smile.
i couldn't remember the beauty of the fullness of her cheeks..
yesterday they debuted as overworked muscles.

i marvel at her ability - not to be or appear transparent, those tricks are for kids.
it's her ability to sell transparent that leaves me in awe.
whatever the color of the grin she posts, others sign-up, responding to only what she displays.
the ones close to her.. are they easily fooled
or are they simply more comfortable stifling the pain in her real smile.. but i've seen that too..

it only ever sneaks out and it lasts only until you blink
but the ease of it makes the others irrelevant..
it broadens her shoulders and shows the light in her perfectly lashed eyes..
i am reminded only with this smile that i have to look up to see it.
right, cause she's taller than me.
A smile that gives honor to melancholy, shows the most unwavering loyalty to even those stiflers.
it questions nothing, accepts it's own brief existence.

these and others are flashed over time to maintain consistency.
to be subconscious supporters of her stability.
strategically designed to remind us of her strength, i dare say an unnecessary strength
with most of the pressure resonating from her combustible self.
i wish she knew the one seen least of all bares the soul of a humble warrior.
it exposes a universe-granted sovereign beauty.. genetics incapable of reproducing this kind.
if only i knew how to tell her..
if only i thought she would listen..

Sunday, July 3, 2011

They vs. Those...

What they say supposedly doesn't matter until it becomes the trusted source of my reputation
My own actions become secondary to the chatter invented to give meaning to what I do
I hear they're made up meanings and I raise my glass to they're incredulous interest
Let's toast to what they believe:
When I give, it's solely to ensure I'm owed later on
When I love, it's to fill a void left open due to some past tragedy that eludes even me
When I hurt, I'm reaping the hurt that I caused someone else
When I cry, it's so the onlookers sight becomes so magically blurred that they see me in a completely different light
When I dance, it's to ensure that I own the spotlight
When I sing, I only mean to drown out the voices around me
I extend frienship only to escape my pending loneliness
I work hard because my ego needs the stroking and the accolades give me self-worth
Who am I to question the meaning they've determined for my actions
Who are they to determine when those meanings are real
I'm happy to say nothing, but I rarely do

All who have the ability to manipulate don't
And soft-spoken although often translated to introvert, sometimes just means sneaky
Just because you are good doesn't mean you've been good
Statements I know to be true, but bore myself stiff deciding who and what they define
I don't want to be a they, applying imageries to the actions around me
Intent is easy to judge, right they?

I've learned to give only when I absolutely want to, because when they don't appreciate, reciprocate or acknowledge - I don't regret
Perfection is not my claim, not even a consistent goal, yet it's the standard to which they hold me
I have a vague indifference to the hushed whispers of they
A joy that my growth has made they irrelevant

Then there are those
Those who appreciate my love with all it's faults
Those who know my name and give it a meaning of strength
Those who accept my idiocyncracies and faults as merely proof of my humanity
And take my kindness for kindness, and weakness for weakness
Those understand that I would never claim perfection, those know because those were there when I fell, those held my hand
And those see altruism in my tears, and victories in my laugh
Those don't label my mood or question my truths
Those know me, they never will...

So while still chuckling at some of the leaked chatter that they leave in my trail
I run toward those who have taught me acceptance no matter the years, distance or difference between us...