She wakes up alone, stands alone, walks alone, eats alone, toils alone and all her days pass while still lone. When the night dawns, she still goes to sleep alone but thoughts and dreams wouldn’t leave her lone.
She is the girl who grew up known, always preferred Yvonne chakachaka’s to any other song. She saw the music she composed very live in her eyes; a dream of becoming an icon despite the struggles and ambitions rising so high.
Determined to get out of the stale hometown which blurred the lines between black and white, every day as she walks by men and women rumble and wow of how she’s of a different kind. A shade that reminds them of the embodiment of beauty, but silently she fears for the attention and the cruel people bestowed upon her city.
Children lost in this life’s maze, while others beg with each wake. Every sunrise they work more than the prominent one we seem to know and look up to but who doesn’t know about us or what we’re up to.
She looks at him and prays that with that twenty shilling coin, she would miraculously touch the life of him with thoughts rendered foil . Well dressed side walkers each lost in their own survival, dart glass cutting glances as if the beggar was their sole rival. A sore nuisance being born less normal than the average man, worse, poor and with no self-preservation than the wicker man. She ignores the world and always kept that child in her heart, for no matter how much she did not beg for attention, nor beauty nor affection, she still was begging for fruition. A chance was denied to be better than the last, but not one to make the world change from the uncultured past.
She had created the power love story, which sets two souls as one and free as birds in their territory. With herself playing the damsel in distress, the knight of ‘amour’ rescues and whisks her away to lands she never thought existed: and if that was more than needed, just a walk in life with him would term her story completed.
Her eyes black in kohl would pierce his soul, reducing the iron man to a boy who joins and syncs to her dance row. She’d be graceful and more than a gypsy adorned in all shimmy and shiny jewelry, her beauty remaining the only flawed perfection to the king who would rule her dynasty. At night she was the queen who would strip down to a hip hugging sultry dress and dance with her lover for she would be his dudess. Their fortress would come alive from witnessing the affair she so played in mind, signifying it no longer blossomed in hide.
The night would fade away leaving a trace of a deeper love created with each rise: one that would transcend the legends of Bonnie and Clyde. Her knight would still be the villain in her beginning but ever the hero at her end. Seated alone she orchestrates this as the drama which they’d re-enact, forever together like those two words. Finding relief in a thought that Soledad was also composed before us against the world; henceforth she knew one day she would encounter him still searching for her in this vast earth.
That was a little heart’s fiction. Now she was a little older and reality facing her she sought to fulfill her demanding dreams. She slept thinking in line with greater minds but when she woke this was by far hindsight. She once thought that someone would emerge to douse her desire but proven time and again she only thrived in her dotty love triad.
(Back to self).
And now in bed I lay again night after night woke trying not to become “That Girl” as Alysia Harris spoke, I contemplate “What is my purpose? Who are you that I have to factor what you would need, instead of focusing solely on my greed? You taunt me, with a voice that screams getting him for money is wrong, but you’re never there to love and to hold. Then in my moments of despair, I stumble upon a quote,
“Amor cuerdo no es amor,” You mean sane love is not love? I have love within me and I have known crazy. I have worshiped to rid me of this madness but the devil just won’t let me be. Is this quote your way of telling me to have faith in you? Or is it an easy way of justifying the cloudburst and sad days when I still search for you like a fool?
Yes, My answer from then becomes definite.So I pray and make myself better than the rest, and ask not to fail by committing a sin for my own gain. I lay all my plans below Your feet and wish against wishes that you have a purpose for my existence as you see fit.
Seated alone combining these words I get a picture of a thousand words that while I search for you, I should also be righteous than my past, that my heart should stay pure and I should also learn the essence of true love.
The picture shows reincarnated I would see God in you and thenceforth I plead that while I strive to not be alone and fill this void with the theory of you, in case you see me walking by the streets oblivious and given up hope; resolved to the conclusion that you exist not, brush your arm against mine, interlock yours with mine wandering eyes; and if I don’t recognize who you are, remind me just like sleeping beauty, this only marks the end of my dotty love triangle. That me, myself and I, would forever be replaced by HIM, You and us.
Check out Elastic heart on a dirty plate.