My Life, Not as a Covergirl (Le Voir N. Lewis - New Orleans, LA)

 

 
If my life was an ad, a commercial, or a trailer of “what’s to come”?
What would it feature? What would be the focal point? Where would my beauty come from?
Would it feature my natural earth tones or the way the sun illuminates the brown in my eyes?
Would the sun beam down on my perfectly white teeth or, capture my smize?
What would the hypothetical camera capture? Would it be my smile or maybe the way I walk,
Rapidly sauntering through the parks of Audubon, greeting passing strangers for a sit down and talk?
Picking up the pace, no sliding or slow walking from my feet.
Enjoying the sunshine and high stepping to a New Orleans second line beat.
 
What would the hypothetical camera capture? Would it be the famous ‘hair in the wind’?
Idolizing my carefree spirit and non-existent thoughts of a moral sin.
Bills!  What are bills? The camera captures my rent-free attitude.
Imperfect, filled with blemishes, and errors in judgement. No determined exactitude.
I lay in the park grass, boasting of the brightest of greens flourishing beneath my waist.
The hypothetical camera captures the reddish freckles on my forehead, and the dimples on my caramel-colored face.
I am overwhelmed but in a safe way. I lay in the grass feeling coy, prim and proper, and dainty.
Far from innocent, this refreshing feeling temporarily converts me. I am momentarily self-righteous and saintly.
 
The perfect picnic in the sun; warm and pleasant as I smize. Then the reality has just begun.
I am not smizing, only covering my eyes from the blistering New Orleans sun.
Shading myself from being blind, this lotion barrier between heat and dryness to preserve my dry skin.
Aging has depleted the supple, softness from outside within.
Our picnic is still lovely, but energy is spent chasing termites and love bugs. Shooing them all away.
I shield the lukewarm glass of wine that has now gagged me, while rolling in the hot sun in dismay.
 
My lukewarm glass of wine is the only cure for my blues while in the hot and humid grass. A 

life of self-love to fulfill.
There is no hypothetical camera. This lukewarm wine is the perfect distraction from the three-hundred-dollar Entergy bill.
Awaiting on the kitchen countertop, waiting for my nervous fingers to fumble with the envelope.
I drink my blues away, wanting to forever forget this day. How can I possibly cope?
No negativity here. Just streams of reality. My life, not as a Covergirl is overheated and wet.
A hot ass mess, let me sit down and rest.  Enjoy this moment and avoid getting upset.
I am not photogenic or one to take pictures, but my experiences are worth the chronicle.
No negativity here, let me makes things crystal clear. . My life…not as a Covergirl isn’t easy, breezy, beautiful. It is worthwhile and comical.