Written on 11.7.17 it’s the story of a friend of a friend. It’s not my story to tell but I was moved by how much we look at people and think we have them figured out while in reality we actually don’t and wouldn’t.
Black eyeliner, black nails, like the colour of her hair, her race
Technically she’s black but her skin tone is that cup of vanilla chocolate ice-cream.
Red wine, taste of sweet grape with bitter under tastes flows in her mouth.
Red lips licking red with that tongue that makes men go crazy with the things she can do.
Yes! Red, Red like the blood that flows in her veins, her clitoris.
She lives carefree, after after all ,all her cares are taken care of.
Money; she has the newest notes,
designer bags and sprays. Sprays that enchant men to fall in her vanity.
Sexual gratification.
She’s beautiful. Sparkling eyes, white teeth and a soft supple skin.
When you are beautiful, everyone assumes you are happy.
They hate on you, others worship you because of how you look but at night when she shuts her bedroom door, turns the bottle of bourbon upside down into a glass and letting her hair loose on her shoulders, that moment when her walls cave in and her eyes let loose, she is not beautiful anymore.
She is messy and needs fixing. Her perfect silhouette is a portrait of an angel only which the painter knows it’s demons.
Her demons let loose and start tormenting her.
She looks at the mirror and holds hands on her tummy, a place where her womb should have been.
She looks at her eyes for two seconds, she’s brave, her walls hold up again
She wonders how she is unable to conceive, she cries for two more seconds then fixes her mascara, her hair up, up like her walls, Red lipstick on, she continues sipping red wine!
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Monologues 