Lionel Richie – Love Will Find A Way
She was a seedling that grew into a beautiful flower;
Born in December, she amazingly bloomed in the winter.
Her petals are bruised because she’s been hurt many times before,
But now she is lovingly watered — and under healing sunlight,
Rich and nurturing soil her long strong roots explore.
With vitriol, some call her whore — but their
Taunts trouble her beautiful and wondrous soul no more.
Radiantly, she towers over them with protective thorns on her stem;
They could never dare to even attempt to hold her ever again.
Beautiful rain falls on her delicate petals, and she is gorgeous.
They revile her publicly, but secretly they are jealous;
They boil in their anger because they could never have her.
Her glory is heavenly — radiantly, she blooms endlessly.
Her thoughts take her to a place of solitude;
Her heart is calm, her spirit is settled, and
Her aura is beautiful.
In her arms he finds rest
She kisses him lovingly
With his head against her breasts
She knows the beauty
Of his intricate depths
The love they share together
Is transcendent and endless
She pours out all her love on him
And she is his healing
She watches over him
In his peaceful sleeping
He needs her and she needs him
It was on chilly spring evening
That true love found them
And now they’re inseparable
Their love unbreakable
With soft kisses and beautiful whispers
They are intimate and sensual
With the vows of their souls
They have become one flesh
She is his heart and
He is her breath
I see the pain in you that others can’t see;
I see the angelic light of your beauty;
When you speak, I listen intently;
Where they see chaos and dysfunction,
I see, beautiful intricacies.
When they call you whore,
I call you a gorgeous woman
whose depths are yet to be explored;
When they say they hate you, I say, I love you.
When they turn you away,
I take your hand and tell you to stay;
When they whisper vile utterances,
I tell you how beautiful your aura is.
When they call you worthless,
I hold you in my warm embrace
with your head against my chest
and tell you that you are worthy of true love
and nothing less.
You are beautiful in your speaking.
You are beautiful in your awakening.
You are beautiful in your sleeping.
Recently, mid–twentieth century Black burlesque has piqued my interest. I am fascinated with the night life of the time period, particularly — the rich cultural demographic of Harlem, Manhattan, New York. I view the women of the burlesque art form as pioneers of fearless feminine sexual expression; Black women, in particular, because of the overt racial discrimination and stereotypes of the era. In my brief viewing of films of the era, I have taken notice of the intricacies in the performances, and the layers of skill intertwined throughout the dances are quite captivating. If I may say, I have had a few interesting conversations about the comparability of burlesque performers and so called “strippers” of the modern day era; I think the most highlighted point referenced in all three dialogues, is that stripping is an evolution of burlesque, (a theory which I reject) which in turn caters to a modern audience who would be dismayed and dissatisfied at the prospect of women dancing in only partial nudity. In my opinion, burlesque and stripping have certain similarities, but they are largely incomparable and should be seen as two completely separate entities. I consider burlesque, circa 1950’s an art form in a theatrical setting, and I consider stripping, pornographic adult entertainment in a setting of monetary exchange for services rendered. There are indeed many skilled strippers who perform wonderfully and have mastered incredible dance routines, though I know patrons of strip clubs might not particularly care about the skill involved as much as the removal of clothes in those specific settings. I have not yet extensively researched burlesque, but I have found that its origin was in England, circa late 1830’s in the Victorian era.
The most fragile parts of me I reveal to you openly.
Without fear, I shine light on the secrecy of my vulnerabilities,
Letting go, and giving you the most intimate parts of me, willingly.
See me in my sincerity, and take me into your heart lovingly—
For I am a man of strength, devotion, and intimacy
Who has survived the bitter cold of tragedy and has loved deeply;
The seasons pass by — and many tears I have cried silently.
If you receive me, receive me completely, in my joy; in my agony.
The Jacksons – 2300 Jackson Street