She dreamt of the angelic roses with thorn cut drops and petals that bleed.

They filled her heart with the fullness of salt that puffs our lips from days

engulfing popcorn buckets.

Discounted price tickets and stale popcorn were greedily munched by

the hot, young actress blinding our eyes.

She said her hellos to the sailors, and they tossed her charms to the sea –

waves engulfed the trash.

The trash is taken away by the angels that rule the schools –

the influential Hollywood style sweethearts that pucker their lips.

They desire attention from an audience like a lip-syncing fool.

They are greedy for free desires that are always, always, always, Abused.

She abused the ways she could take the looks for good use.

Distances and the space we think we consume,

but turn into an infinity of questions that blink past our own sight.

She’s blinded by the culture that told her that the

only valued pieces were the ones seen.

She’s pale. Blue and pale.

Frail hands and innocent eyes are impaired by what a porn star can do, and

what a young girl wants in her life.

The stale stares and rigid nudges turn her mind to the abyss that she will

never escape.

She cannot grasp the other edge of her chair and she cannot place her feet

up on the chair.

Womanhood is sacred.

She is held higher than any star until the silver in her name rusts – she is

washed over – sprayed like the salty grains that vanquish her empty

thoughts.

She is the poster child seen next to a stoning smile with stainless lips.

Draped in graveling cotton broken from the tears of a child cuffed to a chair

– working, worked, and will work.

All for an image that only the salt from sugarcanes and pimps can cure.

She skips past the Chevrolets and Bugattis – past the lucky lads and bougie

days, ropes and swanky hats, towards the riverside full of salt – She’s dry.