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Face Value

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Below is the poem entitled Face Value which was written by poet Bella Cardenas. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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Face Value

Her Cheekbones, smooth as  pebbles 
Grasped tightly in his sexed up hand, sweating indelicately
Resembling that night the thoughts between the sheets were conceived
Weighing like soaked white carpets
Beneath flea market stands
She Is Beautiful, she is beautiful
Belladonna, noxious

Dusty eyes and wavy hair
Neruda book shoveled away somewhere deep
Inside her closet full of chewed up bones
Illumination, dying in Latin never seemed like
A juxtaposition before the closing of the soul
At least his eyes are a Cambridge blue
Jazz muted in Mortality sings on dangling participles  leaking out
From the saxophone

What is that worth?

Thick waist, hourglass coke-a-cola
Mama-sita, mira mira 
Lolita-like N.Y.M.P.H.O.ed up eyelashes
Coating tears with manufactured glob
Somebody put in a bottle
The higher your skirt the more your face value

Goes up, up, up pass the mystery between monogyny and the thighs
Right between the slit ice 
Like Mmmm, and he slides past the first three bases
Oooh Girl you look so good in those Six Inch Heels
                     What is it worth, 
                             to throw away your 
                                                                            Worth      
For a toaster oven and a washed up guy sitting on your back porch
Scratching his head waiting to be given a pardon for his misdeeds
While American Media stole him away
And blamed it on the graffiti on the Church Walls when it was really 
Hipshot for the Hip-Hop , This shameless act of cytotoxicity  
when it was really 
The Devil trying to slow dance with the pretty girl behind the stage

Eyes that lie time after time and are almond shaped but see no further
Then 6 feet deep and a saxe blue sky
Baby girl, on auction in the club
(Going once, going twice, it’s okay we’ll sell her half price!)
Like a slave, a sycophant child  to some sick twisted game
Dancing in the Matrix style of killing the clock
Biting off the hands, to chew them up, spit them out
To pretend like the world isn’t ending over our heads
Seven kids, bloated waist, waitress fingers and lips
Smile, Misfortune dotes on you, Lucky One

What are you going to do when your looks run out?

Heyyy girl, what’s your face value?

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