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If Hollywood had a spokesperson, this is what I'd ask [POEM]

Dec. 15, 2017
Avatar angelica crisostomo.jpgdf7e95d0 9016 4b4b a778 84bb9a60d884
  1. all that glitters is gold, right? what about when there’s no one there to see it? then what’s it worth? 
  2. so what do you do when the lights dim and the only thing left is a body you don’t recognize? 
  3. at the afterparty, my name is known and there’s a hand in my hand and respect in the air. where does that go when i decide to take the cab home by myself? are you supposed to respond to “bitch” like it’s a nickname? 
  4. what comes first, the chicken or the egg, the gig or the ultimatum? 
  5. i see the glass ceiling is 25 feet taller than we can all reach. do i hold my hands out like the bottom of a human ladder? or do i climb shoulders just to get a little closer? 
  6. does silence or screaming make more noise? 
  7. the ones that call themselves the gatekeepers—the ones who ask for a password upon entry that i can’t get myself to speak—there’s a way around them, isn’t there?
  8. when does a grin become an obligation? 
  9. would they know who i was without the pictures? 

i’m not good at mirroring.

and i’m too good at confrontation. 

and i don’t want to not know if i want eyes on me at all times.

  1. but don’t i need eyes on me at all times?
  2. who’s going to tell me when i make it? or do i get to decide that for myself?

i want to recognize my body.

i want to remember what my body is without itself.

i want to know gold without having to drink it like it’s a ritual.

to the game, with love, 

  1. i want to remember my name.
  2. right?