Hollywood Sparrow by Feo P-S, 17 years old

Hollywood Sparrow

A mid-July sun leaked through the blinds,
Catching the dust in its stream, 
Filtering amber, throwing up lines
That fell at her loose shirt's seams.

And so we were down, breathing gold haze,
Or that's what it seemed to be,
Yeah we were down, our hands out to play
In the folds of a cotton sea.

And soon her dark jeans, sprawled on the floor,
Joined her shirt for a while.
But sprawled as they were, I dove for more,
Drowned in a fabric Nile.

Finally now, with everything off, 
She stared at me a moment.
Then she looked down, her eyes growing soft;
The sound of shame unspoken.

She moved her hands down, covered her thighs
And gave a sharp, sad smile.
Pulled myself up, "is everything fine?
"We could just wait a while."

"No, no, with you, I don't want to stop,"
That painful smile bated,
"But I would rather be in my top.
"It's just - I feel so naked."

And she was.
And she did.

My apologies 
for waxing poetic,
but I'm a product of this culture,
molded into sculpture
by magazine covers.

My image of beauty
has been skewed 
narrow
like a Hollywood
sparrow
living off bread crumbs.

These editors,
with their green
thumbs
for growing
girls into
women.

They've shaped my wax poetic.

So when I see
this stereotype,
This beauty that we deem
is ripe,
I can't help 
but throw on
my lenses rose-tinted
to explain 
how the
dew-dripped rose glinted,
to explain
how this 
tall girl,
slim beauty -
thought she wasn't. 

Shoulders down when she walked,
as if her legs were too long.

Felt naked not because of me,
not because because I was there to see,
but because she didn't want to see
what my reaction would be.

As if I would be disappointed,
but my wax poetic, shaped
through years and years of
media rape,
did not deem her
disappointing.
No, it said she's quite
appointing.

And I tried to understand,
come summer months on southern sands,
what makes beautiful girls think they're not?
What in the hell have we been taught?

Well,

there's a difference between
modesty and shame,
though our institutions
raise a different claim.

Our schools justify hiding bra straps
Not because they're a 
simple faux-pas,
But because boys really want
the hooha.

Yeah, everywhere we turn, 
we're told that
boys need toys.
But here I am,
toying with the notion
(rather than toying with myself),
that life imitates art, and that
boys will be boys -
if we tell them to be.

And girls will be girls - 
if we tell them to be.

At the museum, I see beautiful faces;
Venuses, muses, sculptures, and paintings,
Thin brushstroke eyes so full of life.
Then the second pair of eyes 
just below the neckline.
Oh, how man has toiled for
the good to look fine.
Though wait just a second,
this four-eyed beast
isn't biologically right 
in the least.
Four's a good number, 
but women have five,
so why's there a fig leaf
on the whispering eye?

Why is a woman so top-heavy,
decency ending at a hem?
Why is one half worth a painting,
the other covered by a hand?

That doesn't seem like modesty,
which needs more than a leaf to be.

And here, let me make a quick digression:
underwear is bad,
bikinis are rad.
Because underwear is intimate
and bikinis have a hot fit,
and apparently the two
have a hard time mixing, 
an idea I believe 
is in need of fixing.
We're all terribly afraid of 
intimate sex.
It's either bragged one-night stands
or the marriage T-Rex.
Regina, rex, but what comes before?

We're terrified of feelings
when we want to do some feeling,
and we're hush about the feeling
when we talk about our feelings.

Why must we own the stars
or own nothing at all?
Why is there no middle-ground
where two can take a fall?

I know my thoughts are scattered,
like some ashes on a lake.
The remnants of an idea
swimming
sinking
rising
raining
scattering once again.
I thought I had a statement,
but there's nothing I can say.
I just want to talk
chew the fat
have a chat
let the words flow
without choosing where they go.

Because you set out looking for
beauty standards
and you're scattered
you're swimming
sinking 
rising
raining
You're scattered,
looking for false standards
and finding true chaos.

A world where hate is love,
where no means maybe,
where rapists get two years and pirates get ten,  
where a Hollywood movie's worth more than a human
where double standards are tripled to hell.
And I wish we were swimming, rising, and raining,
But this world is bent on keeping us sinking.

And apparently it's a writer's job 
to make some sense of all this nonsense.
But if you're telling me that's my job,
I'm not getting paid enough.

All I know is that the sun leaked in,
Catching our breath in its stream,
Filtering out thoughts that once had been
Primary to this dream.

We both knew this wan't meant to last,
New photos for when we're old.
Living high and moving fast,
Through clouds of mid-July gold.

And then she moved away from my lips,
And I felt naked, too.
Her hands moving down across my hips,
Yeah I felt naked, too.

And I was.
And I did.





***Photo: Giovanni Affatato***




Hollywood Sparrow

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Deadmau5 - Some Chords (FЭO'S Spirit Animal Rave Mix)[FREE DOWNLOAD]

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Mord Fustang - Pop (FЭO's "Some Say" Remix) [FREE DOWNLOAD]

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WYSHBONE [Free Download!]

DEBUT "FЭO" EP COMING SPRING 2015 (NOT ACTUALLY THOUGH IT'S TAKING ME AGES)