Saturday, January 21, 2012

Real


Got to talking about "being real" with a friend last night.
I think, being real, is being your beautiful imperfect self.

* Photo candidly taken by hubby in Boracay *


REAL
Plumb

Look at me, I'm twenty-three
Beautiful, a sight to see tonight
A little dress to draw the press
And I'll be leaving all the rest behind

Well, be pleased, girl
If this is what you wanted
The whole world
Is watching you take the stage
What will you say?

Aren't I lovely and do you want me
Coz I am hungry for something that will make me real
Can you see me and do you love me
Coz I am desperately searching for something real

I close my eyes, imagine time
Will not forget my sacrifice
I numb the ache and decorate
my emptiness stand naked in the light

Well, be pleased, world
If this is what you wanted
This young girl is everything that you made
What will she say?

Aren't I lovely and do you want me
Coz I am hungry for something that will make me real
Can you see me and do you love me
Coz I am desperately searching for something real

The world goes home
The lights go down
My lipstick fades away


Written by at Saturday, January 21, 2012
Labels: , ,

0 comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

QUOTES

"Every woman is beautiful. Her heart loves a roller coaster ride. She cries. She laughs. She falls in love. Sometimes cautiously. Oftentimes recklessly. A constant marathon. Her mind is on running. Running away. Changing pace. Turning around. But never stopping. But most of all, every woman is beautiful because she is both steel and cotton candy and everything in between."

"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two."
-St. Augustine
 

B R I A N N E B E L L E | Creative Commons Attribution- Noncommercial License | Dandy Dandilion Designed by Simply Fabulous Blogger Templates