Mirrors in Hollywood
The actress's dress shines
like a blue moonstone, her smile
like an effervescent cocktail.
"Now, let's put on the
best damn show this city has
ever seen." She spots on some
blush and makes her way onto
the stage.
The lights dim to a soft glow. The actress then appears on the stage, wide-eyed and bubbly. People's eyes create a glimmer when looking at her. Whispers of, "Oh, she's beautiful," are passed around the auditorium. Oh, she's vivacious on stage, I can tell! She says her lines perfectly and she executes every emotion splendidly.
She really is beautiful
After the show, I see her again standing in front of me. Her lipstick is smudged and her mascara marred. Removing her wig, she sits down and stares at herself. I see an exhausted young woman. What happened to all that vitality? Her smile was like a dancing daisy, now it's like a withered away windflower.
The actress's smile
darkens like a sad sky, her
dress like a vacant champagne
glass.
"Now, I can rest."
She smears the makeup
off her skin and stares
at me lifeless.
The lights in the city glisten as everyone hurries and strolls across the streets. Eccentricity is common in a place like Hollywood. There's necklaces that glimmer, rare shoes in hope of a money spinner, and eyes that shimmer. Everything in a city is sparkling, and everyone in a city is marveling. People love to come into makeup stores, stare at themselves in a mirror, and walk away. Oh, the astonishing amount of people I see a day. Laughter and smiles meet me in the malls, despair and frowns meet me in the bathroom stalls.
If people were mirrors,
we'd see each other in every shade,
light, and angle.
If people were mirrors,
there'd be no point of hiding
because we'd be seen at our
prettiest hours and our ugliest.
Mirrors come in every form. Often we overlook it, but most of the time there's a rift in us. We can't shake the feelings of insecurity, happiness, or just pure hatred so we break. It's hard to not be able to reach out to someone and say, "It's okay," as they flood tears. People don't look at me for comfort, they just look at me to see themselves. And that's enough for them.
I am the pain shared
between two souls.
I am the film over
raw true colors.
People stare at me
with ambivalent eyes,
because it's not me who
judges, but the viewers.
I'm simply just
a fly on the wall.
The school lights flicker, peoples eyes are scorn like liquor and their walks with vigor. Happiness shines in the eyes of friendships and relationships. Hatred grows in the darkest shadows and greenest rooms. To be just someone would be an understatement, you have to shine brighter than the stars that dapple the school hallway. Eva Scarlett, she walks into the school bathroom and meets me with eyes that speak and scream hurt. She asks herself how to be beautiful.
This is one of those moments.
The moments I want to reach out of
this cursed glass and hug the girl
who hates herself.
This is one of those moments
where I want their reflection to dance
to my harrowing stories.
If I was not still, I would say, "Beauty is something kept inside glass. That glass is me. Look at me the way you'd look at yourself when you were five dancing in daisies and painting white windflowers with your fingers."
She leaves the bathroom to go back to her friends for a good laugh. In a city, a school, or a stage, we are all living on the Hollywood Boulevard. We all are moments of broken bones and moments of magical madness. We are all a mirror in Hollywood.
-A story of the duplicitous nature in humans.
